


la folie de la vie

by jedormis (dottie_wan_kenobi)



Series: Batfam Fics [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Age Regression/De-Aging, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Bad Parent Talia al Ghul, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Big Brothers, Big Sisters, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, Children, Confusion, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dark, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Dimension Travel, Drug Abuse, Duke Thomas is Lark, Duke Thomas is The Signal, Emotional Baggage, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Gen, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Homelessness, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is Robin, POV Bruce Wayne, POV Multiple, Past Character Death, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Siblings, Resurrected Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl, Stephanie Brown is a Mother, Stream of Consciousness, Teenagers, Tim Drake is Joker Junior, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, at times - Freeform, dick grayson is not a cop, sorta - Freeform, trigger warnings provided in chapter notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2019-10-31 17:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/jedormis
Summary: When a new, slightly pathetic Rogue promises to carry out a destructive vendetta against Gotham, the Batfamily think nothing of it. Then portals start opening up all over Gotham and Blüdhaven, bringing with them alternate versions of themselves and showing them what life could have been like if even one little thing were different.----------------------------------------After a moment, he cracks one eye. Then both go wide as saucers as he takes in the—thethingin front of him, shimmery red energy in a perfect circle hovering in the air. The center of it shows a dimly lit road, surrounded on both sides by endless trees and foliage.Sci-fi’s never been his bag, especially when he had Jane Austen on hand, but he still knows it when he sees it.“Are you—what the—is that a portal?”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Robins and Other Flightless Birds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607170) by [Ionaperidot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ionaperidot/pseuds/Ionaperidot). 
  * Inspired by [show me yesterday, for i can’t find today](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16731591) by [redtruthed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtruthed/pseuds/redtruthed). 
  * Inspired by [If He Had Come](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487642) by [bronwe_iris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronwe_iris/pseuds/bronwe_iris). 
  * Inspired by [The Birds Who Smile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972324) by [Raberba girl (Raberba_girl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raberba_girl/pseuds/Raberba%20girl). 



> Hi and thank you for clicking on my story!! As you can see this was inspired by a few fics, all of which you should absolutely go and read and give some love to.
> 
> There's some seriously dark themes in this story, though most of them happen as past events and aren't the main focus. I'll do my best to warn before each chapter what kind of triggers are present in the chapters, and make those parts skippable or at least explain what happened at the end of the chapters. 
> 
> The prologue was beta'd by my friend Cali, who I love and appreciate so much, and it will probably feel sorta weird, but it's meant to feel that way. Future chapters will flow much better than this one, so try to stick it out please lol.
> 
> I'm so sorry about the rogue's name, I swear it won't stay that and will actually be something not dumb by the end of the story.
> 
> Also posting this on mobile so I apologise for any mistakes! I'll fix them as soon as I can.

### Gotham, June 18th, 3:07 AM

“Put the gun down,” Batman demands, slow and calm, so as not to spook the man with his finger on the trigger. He doesn’t have his hands out in front of him -- too cool for that -- but his body is tense, ready to strike. To protect his team from from this loony bin of a Rogue.

Said Rogue hasn’t provided them a name or really any MO other than pissing them off, threatening kids, and attempting to make deals with the more important Rogues. He’s killed two people, though many more have gone missing after meeting with this guy. Nightwing suggested Mister Missing because of it, but was shot down immediately -- the stupider the name, the worse they acted. In the meantime, they’ve all been calling him Idiot Asshole, though not in front of Penny-One, of course. They’re not interested in losing even more money than usual to the Swear and/or Work Talk Upstairs jars.

“Don’t get any closer! I’ll shoot!” Idiot Asshole cries out, ignoring Batman’s very generous warning. The muzzle of his frankly unearthly-appearing gun points towards Robin, who growls and crouches like an angry cat.

The rooftop they’re all on is probably not the best place to be for a final showdown. Not only is it above an apartment building in the part of town where they don’t do evacuations unless they absolutely have to, Idiot Asshole has a gun that not even Red Robin or Oracle have been able to make heads or tails of. When Red Hood looked at it, he concluded that he also had no idea, but didn’t like how big the muzzle is. “That shit,” he succinctly told them, “can only fit bullets that’ll go through _anything_. If it even shoots bullets, that is, and not like… bombs or something.”

Meaning of course that the civilians under the roof were in grave danger if Idiot Asshole shot at even a slightly down angle.

“Look at me,” Batman says. There’s no desperation in his tone. Anyone hearing him would think he wasn’t at all concerned that his team -- his _children_ , all of them -- were in danger. Of course, one look at the tightness of his shoulders, and the care and fear were plainly obvious.

Idiot Asshole looks, though he doesn’t move his aim. For someone who seems so incompetent, his hands aren’t shaking. He’s ready to kill them all for whatever his endgame is. Is he a soldier? Ex or current? Maybe a police officer. But those don’t mesh with his personality, or his bumbling idiot image. What game is he playing here--?

“Just put your gun down and we can help you. If you don’t, I’m going to have to stop you. And trust me, you do not want that.”

Idiot Asshole laughs. “What I want is to be left alone! I don’t need you interfering with my plans!”

“And what are your plans, exactly?”

“Nothing that concerns you. In fact, they’d do quite better if you weren’t in the picture!” He swings his gun around and aims right at Batman’s chest, squeezing the trigger with all his might.

Instantly, everyone else is moving, jumping off their perches and running or swinging to their patriarch and the Rogue.

The gun jams. Nothing comes out. Batman is surrounded by (most of) the rest of Gotham’s heroes, standing tall, unharmed. Idiot Asshole is faced with all of them -- the scary ones, Red Hood, Black Bat, and Robin; the intense ones, Batgirl, Red Robin, Batman; and the nice ones, Lark and Nightwing -- humiliated with a failed plan.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” he mumbles, stepping back, closer to the edge. As they watch him, he visibly regroup, partially exposed face lighting up. “No matter, though! There are other ways of distracting you.”

“Shut the hell up, man,” Nightwing complains.

“I’m going to shake up your whole world!” Then Idiot Asshole cackles, and jumps off the roof.

When they rush to the side seconds later, looking down and expecting a mangled body or even a getaway vehicle, they find nothing. At all.

Red Robin goes down to investigate, but finds no trace evidence, no bits or bobs or anything.

“Is that… normal?” Asks Lark, the newest member.

“Eh, sometimes.” Red Hood shrugs. Considering the other Rogues in this insane city, nothing can be conclusively labelled impossible. Also, considering disappearing like that is a staple Bat move? It’s more common than Lark probably thinks.

“It doesn’t make sense -- where could he have gone?” Red Robin almost reaches up to run a hand through his hair, before remembering that his gloves pull painfully the strands. The stress relief isn’t worth the pain.

“Should we split up, look for him?”

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious he’s gone. There aren’t even any bootprints. I doubt we’d find anything.”

Batman cuts in then, all business. “Nightwing, Red Hood, you two are free to continue patrol or retire for the night, whatever you see fit. Batgirl, your curfew is coming up very soon, so go get changed and head home. As for the rest of you, one more circuit, and then that’s it for the night. We’ll continue looking for the Rogue in the afternoon, and you will all be updated, so keep your comm lines open.”

“Say Idiot Asshole. Please, just once, B.”

“No.”

“C’mon, _please_?”

“No.”

“Just once!”

“I would like to hear you saw it as well, Father.”

“ _Please_.”

“...Idiot Asshole.”

Their collective laugh and cheer are very unlike the Bats of Gotham, but whatever. No one is around to hear them. Or see, in the case of Batman, the small and very uncharacteristic smirk.

With that settled, they all move on.


	2. June 18th part 1: Talon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talon steps through a portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: homelessness & what comes along with it, being a Talon and some of what comes along with it, strong language, some (not-graphic) violence, a mugging, non-graphic vomiting, two instances of bones snapping, and a very small mention of human trafficking.
> 
> (Jesus Christ that sounds so bad but it's really not)
> 
> And remember.... some of these characters are unreliable narrators....

###  Blüdhaven-1, June 18th, 3:51 PM

Wind suddenly whips down the alleyway, ruffling the garbage bags, loose papers, and powdery snow. Talon shivers as it tickles over his scalp, soft and quiet and  _ cold _ . 

Curse it being  _ June  _ of all months.

He tucks his blanket tighter around his body, clenching his teeth so they don’t  clatter together. If they do, his position will be revealed. It’s not dark enough for Batman or his birds to be out, but the criminals and homeless here are vicious. His belongings -- a thick blanket, thick dark clothes, bland but functional shoes, and his precious knives -- are all things the people on these streets would love to take from him.

A voice that sounds much too similar to Cobb’s for Talon whispers,  _ Kill them. Show them who owns the streets. You are Talon! The loyal servant to the respectable Court of Owls! What are they but street trash?  _

There are many problems with that, which Talon is allowed to acknowledge, now that there is no Court anymore. One is just that -- no Court, no Talon. No sentencing to death. Another is that no one owns the streets of Blüdhaven, not really. Flamebird sometimes comes this far out, but only when the mobs and such of Gotham cross over. Talon lives on the streets just as much as any other here, and those who steal often have a reason, like needing to feed their families or keeping themselves alive. 

There’s no sense in killing them. And anway, Talon only kills when the Court tells him to. The Court is gone. Talon won’t kill again. It’s as simple as that.

It’s very difficult not to, though. So many others on the streets, who have no reason for their violence and cruelty, kill and maim and rape every day. Talon stops them. And sometimes, he imagines snapping their necks, or stabbing them with his knives until they’re gone, or toying with them, chasing them and pouncing….

Talon presses his lips together. He won’t kill again. He  _ won’t _ . If he did, the attention of the sister cities would shine on him, and there would be nowhere to hide.

It’s bad enough that Batman is on his tail. As far as the Court was concerned, he has no qualms about killing and will surely kill Talon for his actions if he were caught. Robin, though young, would most likely join in. Flamebird is the only one who definitely won’t kill Talon, but the thought of being taken to the League of Justice is frightening.

Not that Talon is scared. He hasn’t been scared in a very long time.

However, it’s not like Flamebird was labelled by the Court to be extremely dangerous for no reason. Robin is the one known for killing Talons, though word is they were mercy killings. Talon believes it -- the Court didn’t like Talons who were bested in combat by  _ humans _ . Death is much more preferable to the punishments they doled out.

Death is much more preferable than being hunted down by Batman and his cronies.

He blinks, and memories of the frightening man fly to the surface of his mind.

_ “I swear I saw him around here somewhere.” With the cowl down, he seemed more human. Less Owl. From his hiding place, Talon watched with fascination. This was the man they’d been told to kill on sight? To scatter the remains of? _

_ Robin shifted on his feet, looking around the tattered remains of the medical room. When his eyes landed on the coffins, his face squished. “Father, there were many Talons. Are you sure of what you saw? Some got away. This one most likely has as well.” _

_ “Positive, Robin. It was a young Talon, and they ran this way.” The intensity in his voice came across as anger. Talon was very familiar with anger, and being on the receiving end of it. He stilled his whole body -- if Batman saw him, there was no doubt he’d strike. He was hunting him, and somehow knew almost exactly where he'd gone. _

_ “There’s no way to exit from here, anyway, brat,” Flamebird said, a weird lilt in his voice. He was smiling. _

_ “TT! You’ve seen how resourceful these things are -- “ _

_ “They’re people, Robin.” _

_ “They  _ were _. Not anymore.” _

_ Batman shook his head, something menacing writ on his face. “Just keep looking.” _

_ “We’ve searched every room, Father, I sincerely doubt -- “ _

_ “There!” Flamebird suddenly shouted, and it  _ hurt _ , Talon’s ears ringing and thudding painfully. He dropped from his hiding place, rattled from the events of the day, and hit the ground hard. _

_ The three men stared at him. Talon shrunk back. Batman took a step forward, hand reached out, and Talon wasted no time in lunging. With ease, he took Batman down to the ground, and ran. Robin’s glove almost grabbed hold of his arm, but Talon was faster. Fast enough to get away. _

_ Running down familiar halls, he headed towards the labyrinth, confident in his ability to navigate it. The Bats would be lost somewhere in it while he got away. It didn’t hurt to see the emptiness of the area, the absence of Owls and Talons and doctors. He didn’t know where they went or what had happened to them. He didn’t care. _

_ The door to the labyrinth was flung open, the heaviness of it barely registering. Breath whistled from somewhere as he took in the room. There was nothing but rubble. The fountain bubbled slowly in the middle, but the water was red. _

_ “Hey! Calm down! We’re here to help!” _

_ Flamebird. No. No, no, no. _

_ Batman and his birds didn't help. They killed and hurt and would  _ freeze  _ Talon and  _ experiment _ on him. He could not be caught. No. _

_ Talon jumped into the mess, ankles snapping painfully, and wasted no time in running away, towards the fountain. He had to get out. He had to get away. _

_ When he looked back, all three of them were gaining on him. _

Fuck _ , he thought, pathetic tears welling in his eyes. _

Talon blinks hard against the familiar feeling, wishing to hell he’d died alongside the other Talons. He’s not allowed to want things, but he does want that. He lifts a hand to scrub at his face, pressing hard against his wet eyes. He is  _ Talon  _ \-- there  _ must  _ be more control than this. He is not human and he is not a child. He does not want, he does not cry.

When he hides his hand back in the blanket, the wind picks up again, and suddenly a horrifically bright light blinds him. Tears fall with earnest now, but not because he’s emoting. The light hurts, it stings and it aches and why, why,  _ why-- _

“Talon,” a voice whispers. “Look up.”

He can’t say no. He looks up.

His eyes stop hurting, mouth dropping open in shock.

A large circle of what he can only describe as rippling energy hovers in the air in front of him. It’s blue, and in the center, reaching the edges, is a mirror image of the alleyway. Except there’s no snow, and it’s brighter, like there aren’t as many clouds. Talon can’t help but look under it, finding that the other side looks normal when not looking through the circle.

“It’s a portal,” the same voice whispers, seemingly coming from the… portal. “And if you go through it, Batman will stop hunting you. He won’t ever hunt you again.”

A shout from the mouth of the alleyway has Talon swerving to see, and sure enough, there’s an audience. Homeless people, pointing at the portal, at  _ him _ .  _ No _ , he thinks faintly. An audience means Batman will come.

“Just step through it, Talon.”

Shakily, he stands. His knives are a familiar weight against his chest, and his blanket stays wrapped tightly around him. One step, two, and then he’s there. The energy is palpable, and something bitterly cold slithers down Talon’s spine.

This is… this is not something the Court prepared him for. He knows nothing about portals. Has no idea what will greet him on the other side. If it’s even real. Not to mention, he doesn’t even know who is telling him to go--

“Do it, Talon!”

He steps through.

 

###  Blüdhaven, June 18th, 4:30 PM

For a second, there’s no air in Talon’s lungs. He drops to the ground, the heels of his palms scraping painfully against hard ground. When he swivels around, the portal is gone. There’s nothing left of where he just was, just a perfect mirror image of the alleyway.

There’s no snow. It’s not cold. In fact, the air is humid and warm and he can smell the docks, hear birds squawking. The sky is brighter, enough to vaguely sting, no clouds covering up the sun.

People walk past the alleyway, not paying him any mind at all. They don’t look as dirty as they normally do.

Talon isn’t scared. He’s  _ not _ .

His body isn’t made for it anymore, but he gags, and barely manages to get his blanket out of the way before he’s vomiting. It goes on for long, painful minutes, and he’s sweating and shivering by the time he’s done. The last time he sweated, he was running away from Flamebird. The last time he vomited… it must’ve been when he was human. He can’t remember.

He scrambles away from the mess, grabs his blanket, and risks sitting closer to the mouth of the alley.

Why did he come here?  _ Why? _

Fleeing Batman cannot possible be worth  _ this _ .

He sits for a long time. He doesn’t bother counting, doesn’t bother being aware (as much as he is able, at least), doesn’t bother about anything. It’s only when the sweat stops that he moves again, stumbling to his feet in the way Talons never should. The way he, specifically, never should.

It must be the warm air, he concludes, but that doesn’t sound quite right. 

Either way, he can’t stay here. This alleyway is compromised by whoever made the portal, and anyway, it stinks a lot more without the snow muting everything.

When he makes it out onto the street, it becomes immediately clear that he cannot survive in this much light. Talons aren’t supposed to be in the light -- they’re nocturnal, they see better in the dark, they blend into the shadows so much easier. He’s been sleeping in bursts during the day, but it’s just not a viable option, when there’s danger around every corner. 

Maybe if he can find a well defended but uninhabited fire escape, he can rest. Pull the blanket over his head and just  _ stop  _ for a while. (But not like the coffin. Never like the coffin again.)

Sticking close to the walls of the buildings, Talon ducks his head and looks for any spot he can go to. Everything here is different, however small, and it’s making him feel ill again. Not that Talons feel illness. But this body is old, much older than it appears, and without the injections the Cobb used to give him, it could be reverting. 

During the long, long minutes it takes to find somewhere to sit for a moment (another, thankfully less stinky, alley), he thinks of nothing else. What happens when a Talon reverts? Is he becoming human again? Will he die, or will he stay like this forever? What--

Alarm suddenly rings through him, and without a second thought, he slams against the wall, pulling the blanket over himself and sitting with his knees pressed against his chest. Within seconds, three men step in, large and hairy and muscular in the way some Talons were. The Owls always wanted leaner ones, though. Some of Talon’s victims were shaped like this.

“The boss wants the whole thing done by the 24th at the latest,” says the tallest of the three.

The one wringing his hands looks down for a moment. “During the day or at night?”

“Night, dumbass. Less witnesses.”

His answer makes the last one shake his head and pound a fist into his open palm. “Why the fuck we always gotta do shit at night, though? Everyone knows that’s when Nightwing’ll come out and rain hell on ya.”

“Fuck Nightwing!”

“You won’t be sayin’ that shit when you’re as black and blue as his goddamn suit! You two chucklefucks haven’t been in the game as long as me. I know how Nightwing acts. He’s gonna know exactly what we got bein’ shipped in, and he won’t just stand by and let us have it. No, he’s gonna flip and fly and shit and before you even know it, you’ll be on your way to the hospital spitting up your own teeth.”

“Big Dog, if you don’t wanna face one little Bat all by his lonesome, then why the fuck’d you even join in on this gig?”

Big Dog’s face hardens. “I need the fuckin’ money, dipshit.”

Dipshit laughs. “We all do, you ain’t special. Now man the fuck up or I’ll tell the boss you’re going soft ‘cause some twink -- “

“He’s right,” says the nervous one, quiet like a mouse. “Nightwing don’t fuck around with guns comin’ in his city. He’ll catch us, and even if he don’t, he’ll hunt us down. My sister got put up ‘cause of him. She was just the getaway driver, you know.”

“Your sister got put up ‘cause she was trafficking, you fucking moron.” Dipshit growls and shakes his head. “We been here too long, anyway. Soon enough, one ‘a those cops’ll come ‘round and wanna talk ‘n shit.”

With the threat of talking hanging over their heads, the three men vacate quickly.

Talon emerges slowly and only after they’re long gone, something that is  _ not  _ fear coiling in his chest. Nightwing? He’s never heard of Nightwing. The files never mentioned him,  _ Cobb  _ never mentioned him. And god dammit, did they say he would hunt them down?

Batman will stop hunting you, the portal had said. Clearly, he’s just traded one for another.

Will he have to leave Blüdhaven? It’s a tactically sound place to stay away from Batman while still being close to the home of the Court. But if there’s a Bat here too, or at least a flying, brutal demon like Nightwing seems to be, then he needs to leave. He needs to leave  _ now _ .

He doesn’t even know when now is.

The blanket is soundly pulled back over his head. By the time he comes out, the sky is getting darker. He stares at the much more visible stars, making a plan. He needs one as soon as possible, but it probably won’t work tonight, no matter what it is. All he needs to do for now is avoid Nightwing. Considering how long he’s been hiding from Batman, it should be fine.

For now, something he can do is check the newspapers.

The nearest stand is closing up for the night, and the man behind the counter doesn’t notice anything at all when Talon takes the nearest paper. He goes down a few blocks and steps off to the side, opening it up casually.

He used to know how to read. When he was a human, he didn’t like it so much, but he  _ could _ . Then he wasn’t human anymore and he didn’t have to know, because anything he needed to know could be told to him orally. Now, looking at the paper, the words swim and mix together and make no sense.

The numbers almost make sense -- one-eight. That’s eighteen. Hmm. That must be part of the date… then that must be…. As he sees what year it is, his fingers clench instinctively, crumpling the paper some. It’s not right. It can’t be right.

How long was he in the coffin? How can this be possible?

Wanting to stop looking at those horrible numbers, he flips the page and comes face to face, immediately, with Batman.

The noise he makes is  _ not  _ a gasp. No. Talons do not gasp. But he does take a few moments to breathe and analyze the picture. It’s black and white, so he’s not very visible, though Talon can easily pick out the musculature and hidden weapons. Batman wasn’t so big, when he last saw him. Has it been enough time for him to change this much, or… or what?

Carefully, he folds it back up, and tucks it under his arm like he’s seen other people do. Then he turns and blends into the rushing crowd, just another homeless person heading towards the shelters.

When he finds a dry and hidden alley, he stops in, arranging bits of cardboard around and preparing himself to sleep. This is good enough. It has to be. 

And for a few hours, it is. He sleeps with his eyes open, no dreams haunting him. The blanket added with the lingering humidity are perfectly warm. No one else comes in and tries to steal from him.

He’s awoken by whimpers, muffled screaming, and a gruff voice that instantly sets his teeth on edge. Silently, he sits up, watching for a moment. There’s a man with a gun, holding tightly to a woman’s wrist and purse handle. She’s pushed up against the wall, tears falling.

“Give me your fucking money, now,” the man demands again.

“I -- I --”

“Now!”

Talon stands, making enough noise that they both turn to him, flinching.

Immediately, the man says, “I don’t want any trouble, hobo.”

“Right,” Talon says, sounding… weirdly human. He doesn't like it. “You just want the money.”

“Yeah.” He smirks and turns back to the woman, who’s staring at Talon like he’s just ensured her death.

“Can’t you see she can’t give you the money if you’re holding her like that?”

“What? The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Talon gestures at the purse handle, twisted and held tight to the woman’s wrist by the man’s disgusting hand. Something about the sight is making heat rise in his cheeks. He wants to pounce on the man and watch as he slowly dies from asphyx--

The man lets go, but pushes the gun forward, so it’s pressed to the woman’s forehead. “Get your money out, bitch.”

Shakily, she reaches into her purse, and though Talon can clearly see the way she’s about to pull out a pistol, he still lunges. Hits the man straight in his center of gravity, sending them careening to the ground, spilling out of the alley.

He punches, punches, punches, and bones snap with satisfy ease. The woman runs away, screaming. Talon thinks nothing of it, just of the way it feels so good to hurt this disgusting man.

Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him, Talon. 

Kill him! He deserves it! 

Don’t--!

“Woah, woah, stop! You’re gonna kill him, kid!”

Talon looks away from the bloody mess under him, and finds himself staring Nightwing in the face. Taller than Talon, about as muscular, horror and anger and apprehension on his face. Weirdly familiar.

Staring right at Talon, and the barely breathing man he’s just beaten half to death.

_ Goddammit _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter won't come out nearly as fast as this one, but I felt bad leaving it at just the prologue. 
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	3. June 18th part 2: Jason-2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason faces a long journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: mildly suicidal thoughts & mental instability, blood, the Joker being his evil self in flashbacks, some self-esteem issues related to being replaced, non-graphic depictions of dead bodies, final goodbyes, grief, having to tell someone that someone has died, and crying. There is a lot of crying in this chapter. I cried, my beta cried, and you probably will too. 
> 
> Also you might be thinking "this is not what I was expecting the next chapter to be"...... if so, fret not, the Talon/Nightwing interaction will be coming soon. Jason has to say his piece first, though.

###  Arkham Asylum-2, June 18th, 4:58 PM

If Jason’s being honest, he doesn't really care that someone had finally found him. That  _ Bruce _ had finally found him. He certainly doesn't care about whoever it is banging at the door, begging him to let them in. They’ve been at it since… well, he’s not really sure when. It’s not like there’re windows here, and he hasn’t had a regular sleep schedule in so long, he can’t rely on that to tell.

The only thing he can rely on is the room around him, sealed like a tomb, never to be opened or shut again. It’s not comforting, but it’s steady, and he can appreciate that.

(Though, if he’s being really,  _ really  _ honest… he would’ve liked to see the sky one more time. The stars. Anything other the stupidly tall walls of this stupidly cruel room.)

Every once in a while, the people on the other side of the door call out, “Robin,” like they know he’s here. (And goddammit, if they knew,  _ then where were they _ ?) He has no idea if they’re more of Joker’s men, Arkham guards or inmates, or even GCPD. Whoever it is, he knows they won’t like what they find. “Let us in. We can help you. You just gotta open the door.”

Said door is made of weighted steel, locked from the inside and outside with special keys Jason’s barely caught glimpses of in the past. It’s also all the way across the room, and even if he could stand right now, much less walk, he couldn’t open it.  _ Wouldn’t  _ open it. If only because he’d have to cross the room.

Those keys, they’re on the floor not too far away. They’d fallen out of Joker’s pocket and been left there, and he can’t look away from the way blood is pooling around them. His ticket to freedom, his ticket straight to Belle freakin’ Reve or his own grave. 

“ _ Robin _ ,” they try again. Their voices strain with desperation, but it’s easy to ignore. 

Jason sighs, head rolling back to lean against the graffiti-covered wall. There are thousands of “HA HA HA”s spray-painted all around him, in disgustingly bright colors, dripping down and reaching towards him. Over his head, “JOKES ON YOU, BATMAN!” is written, garish yellow with an accompanying little bird next to it. There are several “cat got your tongue, Robin?”s and a single “REPLACED!” with a hellish smile by the door. 

He can barely find it in himself to look at it anymore. When he was first taken, every day, every  _ minute _ , he’d watch it, expecting Bruce to come flying through and rescue him.

_ “What are you going to do, little bird? When Daddy Bats gets you out of here?”  _ Joker had whispered. It’s been months, probably, but the words still echo around the room.  _ “Kill the newest chick? Or maybe just yourself….” _

And then he’d laughed and laughed, and slammed Bruce’s face to the floor with so much force, the concrete cracked.

“Fuck off!” Jason chokes out, as loud as he can. His voice is dry and brittle, and his head swims with the effort, and then his stomach clenches as he thinks about how damn  _ weak  _ he is.

“You need help, son!” Someone on the other side of the door shouts back, thinking that was for them. Jason doesn’t  _ care  _ about them, don’t they know that? Don’t they know what that door is hiding?

“Robin,” and is that Commissioner Gordon? It can’t be… his voice is too thick and unsteady. The Commish has never cried in all the years Jason’s known him…. But it sounds just like him otherwise. “Robin, please, we need you to open the door. We have this side unlocked, now you gotta open your side, and we can get you out of there.”

_ Shut up, _ he thinks, anger suddenly flaring hot under his skin. Get him out of here? Yeah, fat load of good that’ll do.  _ Shut the hell up. _

“Nightwing and Batgirl are here, son. They want to help. All you have to do is open the door.”

Dick and Babs came? Maybe he should… but if he did open the door, they’d  _ see _ , they’d  _ know _ , and he doesn’t want anyone else to witness this. Doesn’t want to share this crippling pain. “No!”

“ _ Please _ , Robin, can you just open the door? It’s okay. Whatever happened in there, it’s okay….”

He doesn’t bother replying. It’s not okay and it never will be.

Soon enough, they give up. Their voices continue, but quieter, not for him.  _ About  _ him, though, that’s for sure. It almost makes him want to laugh. They only pretend to care now that Joker and Batman are—are—

And anyway, there’s a new Robin. He might have scraps of his old suit somewhere around here, bloody and sweaty and dusty, but he’s clearly not Robin anymore. 

One of the few things from the real world that Joker ever brought in was a newspaper showcasing a picture of the new Robin, and the vile monster had been so delighted to rub it in Jason’s face that he’d been replaced.

_ “Did he ever even love you, lambchop?” _

The picture is still pinned up on the wall by the makeshift bed he’d been allowed to have, laminated and superglued so that he could never tear it down. Joker had written in the margins all the ways this one is better than Jason ever was. Smarter, more disciplined, younger, quicker, more flexible, not as violent….

_ Joker giggled, unable to help himself from bouncing gleefully. His spindly fingers tapped against each other in front of his chest, a tell of pure amusement Jason learned a long time ago. “What does that make you, then? A _ Jaybird _? Or maybe just a pigeon—useless and annoying.” _

Unbidden, his eyes slide to limp body next to him, a crowbar sticking out of it’s stomach. The sight of it is disgusting and gut twisting, but none of that registers to him. This is just a body, and he’s seen too many of those in his life. This one is not human and never was.

Even in death, there’s a smile, teeth stained red. 

_ “I… never thought ... you’d have it in ya, kid….” _

Jason’s lip trembles, throat tightening painfully. God, what would Bruce think of him? A killer, nothing but relief flowing through him as he sees what he’s done. He can’t even dredge up an ounce of regret.

Worse, he doesn’t  _ want  _ to.

This creature has tormented him for years.  _ Years _ ! He beat and maimed and hurt Jason, and then he… he took away one of the few people in his life that had ever cared about him. If any death has ever been deserved, it’s the Joker’s. 

He doesn’t look at his father, laying dead a bit farther into the room. He can’t, or he’ll break down completely.

When his eyes squeeze shut, burning, he tells himself it’ll all be over soon enough.

“Robin,” a new voice says. At first he thinks it’s from the door. Commish Gordon trying to pull the Nightwing and Batgirl card again, or maybe more pleading for him to cross the room on useless legs, step over his father’s body, grab bloody keys and open the heavy door that’s kept him locked up for so long.  _ Well fuck that _ , he thinks, gearing up to yell at them again. But then the voice comes, and it’s way too close to be the door.

He jumps, fear suddenly pounding in his ears, because dammit, is it the Joker, is he back, did his death not  _ fucking take _ —

“ _ Robin _ . Open your eyes.”

A shiver goes down his spine as he thinks, _okay, that voice is too low to be the Joker’s, so it can’t be him_. Either way, he doesn’t want to do what it says. Reality is too awful, he doesn’t want to see it again, so whoever the hell is telling him to— 

“I can make all of this better.”

“Bullshit,” he chokes out. “You can’t fix this.”

“I can,” the voice counters.  To other people, it might be comfortingly deep, but all it does is remind him of the gravel in Batman’s words, the soothing, fatherly love that infused Bruce’s. This one sounds like a kid using a voice changer—fake and annoying. But the words themselves…, “If you would just open your eyes.”

After a moment, in which he thinks about his extremely limited options and how much he does not want to look, he cracks one eye. Then both go wide as saucers as he takes in the—the  _ thing  _ in front of him, shimmery red energy in a perfect circle hovering in the air. The center of it shows a dimly lit road, surrounded on both sides by endless trees and foliage.

Sci-fi’s never been his bag, especially when he had Jane Austen on hand, but he still knows it when he sees it.

“Are you—what the— _ is that a portal _ ?”

“Finally, someone gets it,” the voice drawls, and it’s coming from the portal thing, like it’s no big deal at all. “Yes, it’s a portal, and if you step through it, things’ll be  _ fixed _ . I can fix everything.”

“I can’t walk,” he blurts out, before frowning and adding, “And I’m pretty sure you’re not real, anyway.”

“W-what? Of course I’m— _ it’s  _ real.”

“There’s Joker gas in those crates over there. B….” Jason clears his throat against the rising grief, and it aches immediately, but he can’t find it within himself to care. “B could’ve hit one of ‘em with a batarang or something. He probably did, and I’m just imagining you now. A talking portal telling me it can fix things? Yeah right. Get the hell outta here.”

“You know, you were supposed to be the easy one?”

“The hell are you—“

“Why would you want to stay here?” The voice asks, talking right over Jason. “Nightwing and Batgirl won’t do shit for you, and you know it. And anyway, this place is a hellhole. I can take all of it away and give you want you want!”

“You don’t know anything about me, or what I want!”  He slams his fist down against the floor, voice cracking on the last word. It rips out of him, setting his chest and throat alight with pain once again, but goddamn, who is this hallucinated portal to tell him  _ anything _ ?!

“You  _ want _ to get the hell out of here, and you  _ want _ Batman back.”  It sounds so smug he just wants to punch the portal in the face. “If you go through the portal, both of those wishes will be granted. So do it!”

Jason curls his fists. He’d done it right before he screamed and jumped at the Joker and shoved the crowbar through him, and the memory of it shocks him enough that he doesn’t argue back with the portal voice. 

“The big bad Red Hood should be strong enough to stand up and take a few steps to freedom and happiness. Jesus, I don’t know why I even try….”

The light of the portal starts to fade as soon as the voice rails off, and Jason shouts, “Wait!”

He has to take the opportunity, doesn’t he? He  _ has  _ to. Even if this isn’t real. Even if he’s going to wake up in a hospital bed, or right back where he’s been every morning recently. Maybe he just won’t wake up. All of it only adds up to one choice—he has to go through the portal.

“Robin?” A voice from the door replies, and dammit, that sounds so much like Babs, it  _ hurts _ .  Memories of her swirl around all the other thoughts. Tutoring sessions, complaining about Bruce and Dick, watching X Files together. He’s missed her, more than he ever thought he would, and now… now he’s going to leave before he can even see her again.  “Wait for what? Are you coming to the door?”

He waits until the portal is back to normal before saying back, “You’ll have to blow her down! But just wait a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay, we can do that. We’ll wait,” Nightwing answers, though he can still hear Babs speaking quietly from somewhere beyond the door. “Is Batman in there?”

Oh god. There’s no telling how batshit Dick’ll go when he sees Bruce. “Y-yeah. It’s not good, man.”

There’s nothing for a long moment. Then—“Just as long as you’re okay.”

And damn, does that bring out the waterworks. He wants to laugh, never wants to laugh again, wishes he could protect his stupid brother from the horrors of this room. “I—”

“Little Wing…  _ Are  _ you okay?”

_ Am I okay? Am I  _ okay _? No. How could I be okay, Dickhead? How could you ask me that? And more importantly,  _ where were you _?! Why do you only care now?  _

But those thoughts are wrong, he knows they are. Joker used to laugh and laugh about how the first little robin wasn’t much of a detective, if he was looking so hard even the papers caught wind of it but still couldn’t find him. He  _ did  _ care. Jason has to believe that.

“I’m fine,” he replies, voice cracking again. No matter what’s happened, he forgives,  _ loves  _ his brother, which only makes this so much worse. “Hey, Big Bird?”

Dick laughs at the stupid nickname, and it’s a broken sound that pierces straight to his heart. “Yeah?”

“Don’t—don’t come in here. It’s really bad, okay? Let the others come in first.”

“Why—?”

“Hurry up,” the portal says forcefully, a reminder of how little time he has left. 

Eyes burning, he tells Dick, “I love you.” He’s never said it before to anyone but his mom (Catherine, not Sheila). He wishes he’d said it to so many people, now, but it’s too late for them. He can say it to Dick, at least.

“Ja— _ Robin _ , you’re scaring me. It’s going to be okay, you’re gonna be okay, just hold on! Damn it, open the door, he’s—”

“Robin!” Babs again. “What’s going on? Are you injured?”

He looks down to the dried blood, wounds that’ve healed incorrectly, his bloody knuckles and twisted fingers, the cuts and bruises that don’t even hurt anymore, if he’s being honest. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, knowing how much it absolutely does matter to them. “Looks, Batgirl, I love you too, okay?”

“ _ Robin— _ ”

“Robin,” the portal warns again.  Like it knows he’s said his piece and needs to go before he decides to stay.

“Fine, shut up.” With a growl, he tries to stand. Leans all the way on the wall, panting and groaning with the effort and pain. A good ole burst of adrenaline would come in handy right now. But after that last one, he’s honestly not sure he’ll ever feel it again. The numbing it lended him, though… he could really use some of that.

When he’s upright, legs shaking like a newborn baby’s, tears are leaving streaks down his face and his teeth are clenched so hard, something cracks. Fuck, why did he stand up? This is a pipe dream, fueled by Joker gas, it’s stupid and  _ he’s  _ stupid and— 

“I can’t,” he whispers, shame rising in him. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Do you want to go there? To that forest?”  It’s like a switch has flipped, all the annoying, rushing, fakeness of the portal voice is gone. Now it’s a smooth talking businessman, ready to sell to Jason a strip of road and some grass and trees. And damn him if he’s not  _ falling  _ for it.

But he just can’t help it. He wants out, more than anything else right now.  In the distance, he hears Babs’ voice again. God, he doesn’t want to leave them, but he doesn’t want to stay, but he doesn’t want it to  _ be  _ like this anymore.

“Yes,” he sobs. His own weakness has him banging his head against the wall. 

“Then come  _ on _ ,” the voice huffs, and then everything goes black.

###  Bristol Township, June 18th, 6:45 PM

For a second, Jason just lays there, perfectly imitating sleep. He does it often, but the Joker’s never really caught on, that or he doesn’t care. It’s a moment of peace before the cycle of torment starts all over again.

Something feels different about this time, though, and for a long moment, he can’t put his finger on it. 

He risks breathing a little deeper, and okay, yeah, the air is different. Less steel and concrete and no circulation. It’s fresher, more humid… what the hell? 

When he opens his eyes, all he sees around him is the darkening sky expanding in every direction, stars becoming more and more visible as night falls. Tall trees shoot up from the ground, covering up parts of the sky with their branches and leaves. Under them, well-groomed grass swishes softly with the light breeze.  

All he’s wanted to do since he first went to Ethiopia and was kidnapped has been to see the expansive and unhindered sky above the Manor again. Or the Manor itself. Or just the sky, it doesn’t have to be over the Manor as long as he could see the stars one more time before he croaked….

With a groan, he tries to take stock of himself. Everything’s a little numb and a lot cold, but he can move his limbs well enough. His ankles and knees protest immediately, but it’s survivable. His fingers ache, his wrists twinge, and his elbows and shoulders crack like nobody’s business. He can’t deny that it could be worse, even if the thought of doing anything but lying here makes him want to become one with the grass.

Except, he’s not on grass, is he? The ground is way too hard and not pokey enough for it be grass. His shaky fingers scrape around beside him, and it becomes immediately apparent by the texture and heat that he’s laying in the middle of the road.

“What the—?”

Very gingerly, he sits up, cursing at every flare of pain. It takes so much longer than it should, especially for someone Jason’s age, even if he has been beaten more times than he can remember ever since… well, basically since birth. Oof, bad thought, bad thought. Think of something else, Jason, like….

….Like Bruce dying? The insane portal that had swallowed him whole and spit him out in the middle of the road?

Unless he like blacked out or something, and escaped. But is that even possible? Jason curls his toes, testing, and winces as the sharp stab. Okay, so probably not. That’s good, right? 

He still doesn’t know where he is. Though something about the trees looks weirdly familiar. He hasn’t been around too many of them—Gotham is a big city with room for sad, spindly trees; he didn’t see much of Ethiopia except the warehouse; and again, there were no windows in that room in Arkham. The only trees he knows are the ones around the Manor, but why would the portal spit him out there?

Bruce is dead. Alfred, Dick, Babs, they’re nice enough but they wouldn’t want to let the idiot who let Bruce Wayne die in their home. 

Stupid, childish tears immediately well in his eyes at the thought, and it’s as he’s raising his hand to wipe them away that he sees lights. Headlights. Coming right for him.

Pure fear slams through him, and he shouts expletives, rolling into the grass just as the very large SUV comes barreling over the small hill. The driver blares their horn as they scream past, and even though he’d love to scream back, there’s not enough air in his lungs.

_ Jesus _ , he thinks with no small amount of despair (he almost died), anxiety (he _ almost died _ ), and anger ( _ HE ALMOST DIED _ — _ JESUS, LEARN TO DRIVE YOU MANIAC! _ ). 

He lays there for way too long. It’s not safe, and clouds are rolling in, looking like it might rain, which would really be the icing on this shitty cake. Also the grass is cold and wet and is poking him in weird places. But it’s so much easier to just lay there and breathe and try not to cry.

When he eventually does get up, he moans with every movement. Apparently almost dying,  _ again _ , does nothing but make his body ache even worse than it already did. Also, standing without a wall to lean on is a lesson in gravity and almost-broken noses that he really does not appreciate having to learn.

Somehow, he makes it to his feet, which he’s realizing only now are bare. He lost his Robin boots in Ethiopia and hasn’t seen them since. There’s never been enough time to miss them, not really, but he does now. It would make this so much easier.

His training falls second to what he learned on the streets in most cases, but here they match well enough. He needs to find shelter, something for the night at least, and food if he’s lucky. Shelter first, though.

He takes a step. The grass tickles but the pain that floods through him distracts him from the sensation he was sure, just a few hours before, that he’d never feel again. All he wants to do in that moment is fall to the ground and give up.  _ I can’t do this… _ , he thinks once again, and the words burn like acid.

He’s not actually pathetic enough to give up now, is he?

No. He’s Jason goddamn Todd and he doesn’t give up, especially not like this.

_ You have to get through this, Jason, _ he tells himself firmly.  _ You can cry and feel sorry for yourself once you’re not out in the open. Pull up your bootstraps or whatever the hell that saying is and DO IT. _

He takes another step. Then another, and another, and another, until he’s  _ doing  _ it. Walking on legs that’ve broken in too many places to count now. Taking control of himself, taking  _ care  _ of himself, and saying one big  _ fuck you _ to the Joker in the meantime.

The thought’s almost enough to make him smile. His mouth probably doesn’t work like that anymore, or maybe his brain, but even the suggestion of happiness sends something all through his body. Something like magic.

Probably because he actually feels like he’s Robin again, and Robin has always given him magic, made things better. Even when it didn’t.

Walking becomes less of a chore the more he thinks about it, though some part of him recognizes that he’s probably irreparably damaging  _ something _ . It doesn’t matter,  _ can’t  _ matter, though. He has to keep going. Happy thoughts aside, he has a mission and he needs to focus on it.

But damn, if the memories of being Robin don’t make something in his chest loosen, make it easier to breathe. He hasn’t allowed himself to think about it in so long, since all it did was make his heart constrict and his eyes burn. Now he’s free, and he can think about swinging around Gotham with his dad all he wants.

...his dead dad.

Yeah, his dead dad, who he swung around the city with before inevitably ending up in front of a Rogue, like the Joker, who fucking  _ killed his dad—! _

Jason looks up suddenly, fury racing through his veins, and finds himself about to run into a gate. What the hell? “Where’d you come from?” He whispers to it, trying to ignore everything else. It looks familiar, like everything else out here does, but he actually has a memory associated with this thing.

_ “Master Jason, do refrain from straying too far today. The snow is dreadful, and I will not have you getting sick. Again.” _

_ “Yes, Alfie,” Jason, twelve years old and coming off the flu, said. He obediently went and played outside where Alfred could see him, and then bolted the second the older man stepped away from the window.  _

_ Stay close? Pfft. He went all the way to the large fence separating the Wayne Manor lands from the Drake’s. By the time he got there, he could barely breathe, more because the air was so thin and bitingly cold than because of his lungs. He was Robin, after all -- his lungs were fine. The thrill of being alone again for the first time in what felt like too long was enough that he didn’t care. _

_ He loved being with Bruce Wayne and his family, he did. But sometimes he just wanted to spend some time alone, you know? Apparently being sick meant he had the attention and care of all three adults in his new family. _

_ It was nice, being coddled. Weird, but nice. _

_ Either way, he pulled his book out from under his jacket, and sat heavily against the gate. It was made of fancy wood, painted white, with gaps between the boards big enough to see through. Didn’t seem like much in the way of protection, but he knew that it was erected like this—with the outside parts of the fence being thicker and taller—because a Wayne in the past was having an affair with a Drake and wanted easier access. The old broken board had long since been fixed, but it was still fun to come here and— _

_ “Whatcha doin’?” _

This is the gate that separated the two Manors.

For what feels like several long, long minutes, it doesn’t set in. It just doesn’t make sense, that he’s here, that this is the gate he used to meet Tim Drake at and talk about the Justice League with. 

He never expected to see it again.

His hands run reverently over the surface of it, just taking in the familiar sensation. Something about it is soothing, reminding him of better times. More importantly, it reminds him that home is nearby. Just on the other side of the fence.

For the first time in however long, he can go home.

It takes no further thought to start booking it even more. He gets around the fence and into the Manor’s yard somehow, feeling like he’s on autopilot, thoughts racing so fast that his chest starts heaving along with it.

The yard is too big for any sane person to have, especially when said person only has like two and a half kids and absolutely refuses to get them pets of any sort. All the space was a novelty when he first moved in, but now it’s just hindering him from getting home. He doesn’t know what he’ll find, if he’ll even be welcome, how much time has passed, anything. But it doesn’t matter because his only goal was to find shelter, and this is shelter. This is  _ home _ . 

When he sees it fully, larger-than-life and looming just like it’s owner, his chest breaks open into a million pieces. Jesus, he’s missed this place so much, and it’s so close but so far, and…. Dammit Bruce, why did your stupid ancestors put the house a million miles away from the gate?

He limps the whole way to the door. It gets worse with each step, like something’s dragging him down. He starts to feel lightheaded about halfway there, black spots dancing in his vision. But he’s going to make it there if it kills him. He won’t let  _ anything  _ stop him.

Taking the stairs shoots pain up his legs and back, his grip on the railing being white-knuckled. Then he’s staring up at the door, with a peep hole and fancy woodwork. Nothing less than the best for the Waynes.

Out of habit, he pats his pockets, as if he’d find his keys there. Nevermind the fact that he’d left them home when he left for Ethiopia. He doesn’t bother reaching for the set of lockpicking tools he used to have.

Instead, he just knocks. If no one comes to the door, then he’ll find a way in. If someone comes and they don’t want him, he’ll try the ‘defenseless child out in the cold’ card. Even though he’s not a kid anymore, and it’s not really cold.

While he waits for the final verdict, he leans up against the door jamb, another wave of lightheadedness washing over him. It’s getting really old if you ask him.

When the door finally does open, it takes Jason way too long to dredge up the energy to open his eyes. And then he tries to blink away the tears the sight brings, because this is Alfred and he’s missed the old man so much, his throat is already tightening up.

“Alfie…,” he says, and his voice drifts off horribly.

“Master Jason,” Alfred says, hands hovering over him uncertainly. “What on earth has happened to you, my dear boy?”

“Alfie.” He can’t help but repeat it. It’s always made the older man smile, to be called that. This time he doesn’t though, and Jason tries again, some part of his brain not communicating with the more pressing matters at hand. “I missed you so much.”

“Master Jason….”

“Has Dick told you?”

His pseudo-grandpa gives him a look full of confusion, fear, and what can only be love. Voice very gentle, he asks Jason, “Told me what?”

Oh god. Oh god, he doesn’t want to be the one to tell Alfred. Please no. He can’t be the one to tell him that his son is fucking dead. 

His head gets pressed to Alfred’s chest, right over his thudding heart. “Please, Master Jason, you need to breathe, join me, won’t you?”

He sounds so far away. A million miles, at least. Maybe underwater. It sure sounds like he could be.

“Bruce is dead,” Jason whispers miserably. He can’t look at Alfred while he says it, but the older man  _ has to know _ . Saying it outloud hurts so damn much. Makes it too real. With a sob, he falls into Alfred’s arms fully, trusting him with all of his weight. “Oh god. My dad is dead.”

Alfred’s hand comes up to rest on the back of his head, his mouth to Jason’s ear to whisper something he doesn’t hear. Jason only processes that he hears other voices too before he finally passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you cried and wanna yell at me for it, feel free lol
> 
> Also I promise the next chapter won't be nearly as dark as the past two have djflksdfdsjflasjd


	4. June 18th part 3: Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor comes to the Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: vague descriptions of blood and injury

###  Wayne Manor, June 18th, 8:12 PM

“I’m just saying,” Duke says for the third time tonight, thankfully between bites this time, “M&M’s are better than Skittles and you cannot change my mind.”

“Sure, the mini ones! And anything’s better than the yellow and green Skittles. But if you honestly think regular sized M&M’s are better than like, the blue or pink or purple ones? You’re wrong.” Tim leans forward, a gleam in his eye like he’s about to pull out scientific articles to defend his opinion. If there even are any, he’ll have them ready to go, properly cited and everything.

Damian scoffs, setting his fork down with enough force to tell them all he’s getting annoyed. The older he’s gotten, the better he’s been at staying calm, but he still has his limits. “I understand this matter is of  _ great importance _ to you both,” he rolls his eyes, “but you’ve been arguing about it for three days!”

Duke looks affronted, eyebrows furrowing. “I can’t just  _ not  _ defend M&M’s—”

On the other hand, Tim smirks, pompously telling Damian, “You obviously don’t get it—”

“Three days! It’s been  _ three days _ !”

Cass meets Bruce’s eyes across the table, and fondness for the boys flows between them. They  _ have  _ been arguing non-stop but today it’s more amusing than grating. And anyway, what else is there to talk about during a family (those who lived in the Manor, at least) dinner but which candy is superior?

Well, lots of things, but Alfred, despite going to answer the door a moment ago, will not hesitate to pull out the Work Talk Upstairs jar and force them to pay up if they talk about those things. A little conversation about something other than the newest rogue will do his children some good. Even if Damian looks like he’s being tortured by “mundane and pointless topics”.

He takes a sip of his drink, contemplating making a comment. If he plays his cards right, he can calm Damian down and shock the older two boys into stopping the debate. But what would work best? If he made up something, Tim will know, but he can still trick the other two—

“Master Bruce!” Alfred yells out, alarm obvious in the pitch of his voice.

Like a shot has gone off, Bruce is out of his seat, and so are the kids. Their demeanors shift from relaxed to tense immediately, and none of them have to speak a single word to know what to do.

He leads the charge, silently but swiftly running to the front doors of the Manor. All sorts of situations run through his mind, most of them involving someone extremely dangerous at the door. Alfred can take care of himself, and if it were any old gun-toting criminal attempting to rob them, he would’ve had them on the floor in seconds. Not to mention, they would have heard the scuffle. He can’t rule out the option, though.

Would any of the rogues in the city come here? Most of the ones daring enough to do things themselves enjoyed much more chaos and trauma than could be caused coming to the suburbs. The security system around the Manor is set to scan specifically for Rogues and their henchmen, and send an alarm to the phones of the whole family. Unless one of them have learned advanced hacking, it’s probably not a major villain.

He supposes it could be something more innocuous, like a civilian whose car broke down, but Alfred wouldn’t shout for that.

When Bruce and the children round into the front hall, the situation becomes clearer immediately. Mostly because, when the older man sees them, he adjusts his grip on the person in his arms and informs them, as anxious as he’s ever sounded, “Master Jason has been hurt!”

Except, that's not Jason.

This boy certainly looks like him, with the same face and slightly redder hair (and no white stripe—how did Alfred not notice?). The last time Bruce saw Jason without his helmet, it was much shorter than this. It definitely hasn't been long enough for it grow so much, and he hasn't ever dyed his hair, as far as Bruce knows.

There's also the matter of his height. Though slumped, it's obvious that he's shorter than he was only last night—or really, this morning. His calf muscles are smaller,  _ considerably _ , and his shoulders and chest are much thinner. He suspects if he looked at his bare chest, he'd be able to count ribs. Even if Jason had gotten into something between three am and now, he couldn't have possibly lost all that muscle and weight.

The clothes he's wearing resemble the jumpsuit Arkham inmates wear, but it's been mockingly painted in the colors of the Robin suit. Blood darkens it, some spots extremely old and some fresher. It's on his hands and feet, which are bare, and his face as well. There's a scar on his cheek that Bruce can't quite make out.

Overall, this boy looks like Jason's horribly malnourished, blood-covered twin. But he's definitely not him.

He notices all of this in seconds, but his children don't. The sight of someone so much like their brother, Bruce’s  _ son _ , is enough to make their hearts twist and stomachs drop, and he can see it in their eyes. He can't possibly be angry with them for not seeing every incorrect detail.

Tim, as pale as the boy in front of them, takes a step forward, voice high with anxiety. “Alfred, what the  _ fuck _ —”

Alfred says nothing about the swear, but there's no time anyway, because Bruce sticks his hand out and stops Tim's forward momentum with an arm across the chest. “That's not Jason,” he says, voice a croak. It's objectively not him, but damn if it doesn't upset Bruce to see it just as much as it does the rest of the family.

“It is,” Alfred insists. But he's looking down at the boy, eyes steely, and it won't be long before he comes to the conclusion that it most certainly is  _ not _ . “He recognized me. He called me Alfie.”

_ So he was awake when he came? _ Bruce wonders. It makes sense, what with him being in Alfred's arms. But it does raise the question of, “Is that all he said?”

Alfred's face smooths out, like he doesn't want to answer the question. It makes Bruce stiffen in anxiety—whatever it is, it can't be good. 

“He said… he said that you were dead.”

Duke and Damian both make noises at that, shocked and distressed. Cass tilts her head, eyeing the boy like a hawk. Clutching the arm across his chest, Tim stumbles back some so that he’s leaning against Bruce. He pulls the boy properly under his arm, more physical affection than he normally gives, but he can sense his son needs it. A weird, hurt Jason clone saying Bruce is dead is more than enough to cause stress.

“That's not Jason,” he says again. “He wouldn't joke about that, and he wouldn't believe it unless he saw it with his own eyes.”

It's true, and they all know it. Jason has never fallen for a 'x teammate is dead’ trick, unlike some of the others (though, they can’t be blamed). He's never allowed emotions to get in the way of those missions, even if he has in other instances… like every time the Joker has caused trouble in the past few years.

Duke looks around at them all, fidgeting. “Why don't I call him and see what he's doing, okay? 'Cause if that's not him, then we need to know who it is, and he might have an idea.”

Cass nods and replies before anyone else can. She gently lays a hand on Duke's arm, saying, “Do it.”

“Alright, yeah.” Duke pats his pockets. When he doesn't find his phone, confusion and then recollection flash on his face. “Oh right, it's in the kitchen. I'll be right back.”

He heads back to the kitchen, where all their phones are stored as per family dinner rules, leaving the rest of them to silently stare at the lookalike. 

“What are we gonna do about him in the meantime?” Tim asks, only now tracking the differences in this boy. 

“Leave it until our Jason gets back to us.”

“And if he doesn't? That could be him, for all you know. He could have dyed his hair without telling us. He could’ve been hit with a spell or something. A million things could have happened to make him look like this.”

Bruce frowns. Though he’s positive it’s not Jason, Tim makes a good point—he'll have to do tests. Is this actually a clone, or is it a shapeshifter looking for sympathy? Could it be a robot of some kind, or maybe a long lost relative Jason doesn't know about? Is it a time remnant, and is that even possible for someone who isn't a speedster?

“Father,” Damian cuts in, sharing a look with Tim, still stuck under Bruce's arm. “Todd or not, we must help him.”

“Yeah, I mean, look at him. Who knows how hurt he is.”

In the face of not only Tim's puppy dog eyes and Damian's, but their cooperation as well, Bruce has no chance. With a sigh, he relents, “Take him to one of the guest rooms just off the stairwell. Cass, there's a First Aid kit in the pantry, could you get it and take it up there?” She nods and hurries off. Tim starts to push away from Bruce, so he lets him go. “Tim, Damian, help Alfred with whatever he needs.”

Alfred, already adjusting his hold to prepare for movement, says lightly, “I do believe I can handle helping such a thin boy up the stairs.”

“Still.” Dead weight up a large staircase for an old man? Especially  _ Bruce's _ old man. He won't risk it, and neither will his boys.

“What are you going to do, Father?” Damian looks him in the eye as he asks, not challenging but most likely searching for reassurance. It’s taken him much too long to see the tells in his children, but this is one he’s recognizing more and more often.

He leans down some, though his youngest is getting taller and taller by the day, and cups his cheek. Damian allows the comfort, eyelids fluttering shut. Bruce says, “I’m going to go look into who he could be. There’s too many possibilities for me to just leave it be until we hear back from Jason, or until he wakes up.”

“I understand.” Damian sighs, pulling away. “I do not like seeing the Robin colors so….” He trails off, shaking his head.

“I don’t either, chum.” It reminds him of painful memories he’s still trying to repress, years later. “I need to go find Duke now, so go and help Alfred and Tim, okay? Call Leslie if the boy needs more professional help.”

“Yes, Father.” He heads towards the stairs, yelling out, “Drake! That’s not how you’re supposed to support the—Oh, for the love of—” He bounds up the steps, spilling into a string of Arabic curses that almost make Bruce want to laugh.

Then he remember the beaten and broken Jason clone and any and all humor floods out of him. 

He needs to find Duke and stop thinking about Ethiopia. He needs to do that  _ right now _ .

With purpose, Bruce heads for the kitchen, almost running right into Duke as he gets to the door. “It’s not Jason,” Duke says immediately, shoving his phone in Bruce’s face, so close he can’t see anything. “I asked him where he was and he said getting ready for patrol. Then he was like ‘why do you ask’ and I told him you’d wanna talk to him about it, ‘cause like I’m not gonna be the one to tell him about this, and he sent a selfie saying it was for your ‘stupid paranoia’. So like, here.”

He has to move Duke’s hand back some, but sure enough, there’s a picture of Jason. Normal, healthy Jason, a domino over his eyes but the ridiculous face he’s making one hundred percent him. His suit’s only half on, and he’s giving the camera a sideways thumb, which he always does when he’s put in front a camera and doesn’t have to act formal. The time stamp on the photo is from only a minute ago, which means he’s right. His Jason is perfectly fine, safe in one of his, well, safehouses. The lookalike upstairs, then, isn’t Jason (unless he’s a time remnant, but then, Bruce doesn’t recall his son ever looking specifically like the boy does).

“Hmm. Come with me.”

“Where’re we going?”

“The Cave,” Bruce replies, heading towards the study. “I need to get the things for a DNA test.”

“Sir, yessir,” Duke jokes, giving a sloppy salute.

Once in the cave, they get what they need quickly. Or rather, Bruce gets it while Duke sets up the computers, and if he takes a moment to make sure Duke knows he’s doing it right, no one’ll be any the wiser.

Back in the actual Manor, they follow the sound of voices to the closest guest room upstairs. It’s a plain, medium sized room, with more than enough space for them all to fit. It’s routinely dusted once a week, though no one has stayed in it in so long, there’s no real reason to keep it up. Still, he’s grateful for it now, as it allows them all to be together as things happen.

And there’s certainly a lot happening. 

No one looks up when they walk in, too preoccupied.

Alfred, Cass and Damian are on either side of the bed, Damian leaning over the boy while Cass and Alfred shuffle through the first aid kit. The boy’s shirt has been cut off, proving Bruce’s theory correct. Bruises and cuts cover one of the thinnest chests he’s ever seen, though thankfully there doesn’t seem to be any bleeding wounds. A few bandaids, covered in the Bat symbol because Dick thought it would be funny, cover spots on the boy’s face and torso. In sleep, he’s shifting, causing Damian to have to soothe him before adding another bandaid.

Cass finds something and makes a triumphant noise, garnering a distracted smile from Alfred. She hands him what looks to be body tape, then gently lifts the boy’s hand. Alfred begins wrapping up the middle and ring fingers together, which look so discolored it’s a wonder they can be used at all. The boy hardly makes a sound, but his face twists, and Duke hurries over, shushing fruitlessly.

In a nearby chair, Tim sits, a large tablet in his lap. It’s tilted just enough that Bruce can see he’s looking at the security feeds, which brings back the question of ‘How did this boy get past the security system?’ to the forefront of Bruce’s mind. It’s advanced enough to scan DNA markers, and has been on Family Only mode for long enough, there’s no reason this boy should’ve been able to get through.

“It makes no sense,” Tim mutters at the same time Bruce thinks it. Then he seems to notice he’s being watched, and looks up at him, blinking. “Oh, hey. What’s the verdict?”

“It’s not Jason. He sent Duke a selfie from one of his safehouses, stamped only a few minutes ago now.”

“But they have the exact same face,” Damian protests, a touch too loud. The boy tenses, and everyone goes silent, watching. After a few moments, he relaxes. Damian continues, quieter, “I doubt any shapeshifter would go to such lengths just to trick us! And as Jason Todd, too. Would it not make more sense to go after—”

“ _ Shh _ ,” Duke cuts in. “Just ‘cause he looks like Jason doesn’t mean he is.”

Damian flicks annoyed eyes in his direction. “Fine. Wouldn’t it make more sense to go after someone like Robin, whoever he may be, and get the attention of the Batman? Why come after us?”

“Because you guys are insane and throw money at people down on their luck all the time.”

“Then why not appear as a regular homeless youth? Why come to us like  _ this _ ? And they can’t even get it right!” He gestures at the boy’s torso, the least explainable difference between their Jason and this one.

“You were just saying,” Duke counters, riling up in the face of Damian’s confusion and ire, “that it must be him.”

“Boys,” Alfred warns, shooting Bruce a look like ‘why aren’t you doing something about this?’.

“I said no such thing! I merely said he looks like Todd. Whoever this is, they got too many details wrong, but if they knew enough about us—like Pennyworth’s nickname, for instance—to pull this off, this rip off should look  _ just like _ Todd. They messed up some of the most recognizable things about him, and I sincerely doubt he could’ve changed so much since last night.”

“First you were convinced it’s him, now you’re convinced it’s not. Man, make up your mind!”

“I don’t have all the information yet, Thomas!”

“Boys!” Bruce crosses his arms, putting on his most unimpressed frown. “I’m aware this is stressful, but there will time for arguing  _ later _ . Now, I need to gather samples and see just who or what this is, so either help me or give me some space.”

They both back away from the bed, but where Duke goes over to Tim to see what he’s doing, smarting from the confrontation, Damian stays close. 

Bruce sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, watching as Alfred and Cass wrap tape around the boy’s wrist as well. It doesn’t look broken, but something must be wrong there. Once they’re finished, he gets to work, taking fingerprints, swabbing the inside of his cheek, taking a hair, and pricking an uninjured finger.

No one talks while he does it, and no one says anything when he heads back to the Cave, alone.

Jason’s suit isn’t up anymore out of respect of his wishes, but the case where it was still stands, empty. When he passes by it for the computer, he has to remind himself that his Jason is completely fine, and having a good night, too, if the selfie is anything to go by. All of his children are home, except Dick and Jason, but if either of them had an issue, they’d contact someone here. There’s no reason to let a lookalike get to him.

Quickly, he inputs the DNA samples, putting a rush on his already state-of-the-art system. While it works, he starts looking into whether or not Sheila Haywood and Willis Todd had siblings or cousins. This theory is by far a stretch, but it’s a little more time consuming to look into which species of aliens can shapeshift, time he doesn’t have. 

When the computer dings, he wastes no time in reviewing the results. And then he looks again, reading as thoroughly as possible.

It says the samples are a 96.1% match for Jason Peter Todd. The unaccounted for 3.9% is apparently a close chemical cousin to the kind of Joker Venom being made the same year Jason died.

Jaw clenched, Bruce runs the tests again.

The results are the same.

He paces for several long minutes, reading every single bit of information it gives. It can’t be right. There can’t be two Jasons. But if it’s not a robot, not a shapeshifter, not a long lost relative…. Time remnant. It could be a time remnant. After a quick call with Barry, he determines that it is most likely not possible for non-speedsters to leave one, especially when no energy usually found in time travel has been found,  _ anywhere _ . Certainly not anywhere near Wayne Manor.

“It looks like there’s some other weird energy, though. One real close to your place, and one in Blüdhaven. Looks pretty… huh, that’s weird. It looks a lot like the time travel beams we’ve seen before, but it’s not exactly the same. I can look into it for you?”

Despite the obvious curiosity and interest in Barry’s voice, Bruce says, “Thank you, but no. I’ll let you know if I need another set of eyes on this.”

“Alright, cool. If they start popping up around Central, though….” 

_ Well, don’t sound too excited _ , Bruce thinks. “Yes, of course,” he allows, though he sincerely doubts these energies will ever leave the vicinity of Gotham. The chances of it being the work of one of the Rogues, especially Idiot Asshole with his unknown weapons, are too high to ignore.

They exchange goodbyes (“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you gotta go save the world,” Barry jokes), and then Bruce is calling Jason. He’s not sure what he’ll say, or even what he could say. ‘I have a person here whose DNA is almost one hundred percent the same as yours’? ‘The only difference is he has much more Joker Venom in his system than you ever did’? No, he can’t do either of those, but how else could he possibly word it?

No matter what, the response won’t be good.

Breathing heavily, Jason picks up and immediately asks, “What’s up, B?” 

Pulling up the map of trackers on the computer, he finds Jason’s is at the docks. It’s a little early for patrol, but then, he does have to volunteer the next morning, doesn’t he? “Are you busy?”

“Kinda chasing down some gangsters right now, but I got a minute to talk. And I figured you’d want to, anyway.”

“Yes, and thank you for the selfie. I’ll be hanging it up in the main hall.” He can’t, obviously, but it’ll set his son at ease if they joke a bit first.

“Sappy weirdo.” Jason’s smile is obvious in his voice. “But seriously, what’s up?”

“I need you to come to the Manor as soon as you can.” This isn’t something he should say over the phone, anyway.

“Uh, what? Wait, hold on,” Jason says quickly, and Bruce listens for several minutes as his son threatens and then knocks out the gangsters. It’s only after police sirens are blaring from his end that he continues. “Why do I have to come to the Manor?”

“There’s a situation.”

“Yeah, that’s so helpful. What kind of situation? Do I need to come in guns blazing?”

“I’m sure you’re aware Alfred doesn’t allow guns in his home, Jason.” He’s smiling, a little. Talking to, and not arguing with, Jason always has the same effect. “But no, no guns blazing. This is more of a personal situation.”

“Oh jeez, is the brat dying or something?”

“No. Just come in. Preferably as Jason Todd, not the Red Hood.”

“Fine. Now?”

“Yes.”

Jason makes a groaning noise. As friendly as he is with the family, he still has a hard time being in the Manor, and certainly doesn’t like being bossed around. “ _ Fiiiiiiine _ . But if I get there too late or whatever, you can go ahead and blame Gotham and her lovely abundance of crime.”

Meaning, then, that he’ll be taking the long way home—fighting every bit of crime he comes across. “Of course. Over and out.”

“Uh-huh, bye B.”

Once the call is over, Bruce sits back heavily in his computer chair, watching Jason’s tracker for a moment before calling one more person.

Dick answers after several long moments, the sounds of Blüdhaven a low hum in the background. “Dad?” He whispers, which immediately sets off alarms. Dick never calls him dad unless he’s sick, exhausted, or about to die. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you hurt?” He demands.

“No….”

“Dying?” It’s happened way too many times for him to discount the idea.

“No, I just, I’m not alone. Sorry,” he laughs, just as quiet as before. It doesn’t make Bruce feel any better. “Everything’s okay.”

Heart pounding, he ignores the faux emotions in his son’s voice. “I need you to come home, now.”

“I can’t. And like I said, everything’s fine. We’re fine, you’re just my dad, it’s okay.” His words get quieter, or maybe farther away from the phone.

Getting the sense the last bit wasn’t for him, Bruce questions, “Who are you with?”

Dick hesitates, but eventually relents, though it’s highly unusual of him to not say. He always has friends around, and if it was one Bruce doesn’t approve of, he’d just lie about it. The obvious hesitation can’t be a good sign. “Some kid I found on the street. He’s a little skittish, but it’s fine. Anyway, I can’t come in.”

“I need you here, Dick. Now. As soon as possible.”  _ It’s a family matter, _ he doesn’t say.  _ You need to be here when we figure out what’s happening. _

Dick doesn’t like being bossed around anymore than Bruce or Jason do, and his voice is made of steel when he says, “I told you I  _ can’t _ .”

“Post the kid up somewhere safe. This is more important. Come home.”

“I’m pretty positive  _ this  _ is more important,  _ Dad _ .”

The blow glances off him. “Code Alpha, Dick. Get here, as yourself, now.”

There’s a tense silence for several long moments, in which he wonders if Dick will fight him on it. He’s really not interested in arguing right now.

Eventually, Dick grits out, “Fine. You asked for it,” and hangs up on him.

He drops his face into his hands, rubbing at his temples. This day is just getting longer and more confusing by the second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you all, the Talon & Dick meeting happens in the next chapter! Most of it will focus on them, actually, but as you can see, exact time jumps around a little bit in these first few chapters. Hopefully it'll live up to expectations lol
> 
> Also, for my own peace of mind, lemme clarify: Alfred didn't notice anything wrong despite being his regular observant self because he was suddenly looking at his previously dead grandson looking seriously hurt and saying things like "my dad is dead." As for Cass, Tim, Duke, and Damian, I know their opinions fluctuate back and forth, but they're in the same boat as Alfred. They aren't sure how to react or what to think, and like Dami says, they don't have all the facts. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	5. June 18th part 4: Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick meets Talon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait, I wanted this to be perfect which only made writing it even harder. As it is, I'm not super happy with it, but it's finished and I just wanna get it out in the world. 
> 
> Also I haven't replied to most of the comments on the last chapter, hopefully I get around to doing that soon bc they're all so lovely!! Thank you so much <3
> 
>  
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: vague descriptions of blood and injury. One reference and quote from Nightwing #93 though it's not graphic.

###  Blüdhaven, June 18th, 9:00 PM

“Woah, woah, stop! You’re gonna kill him, kid!”

The kid’s head flies up, fist freezing in mid-air. It’s dark enough that his face is shadowed, though his eyes shine yellow in the low light. Which, uh, what?  _ Yellow _ ? The streetlights generally don’t do that. Other than that extremely weird detail, the only clear thing about him is an angular, extremely sparsely-stubbled jawline—maybe he’s not a kid then. He’s definitely short enough to be one, though.

Underneath him, the guy—who Dick recognizes, vaguely, as a serial mugger and rapist he put away almost a year ago—splutters and coughs on his own blood, wheezing. When he sees Nightwing, he whimpers low in his throat, which makes the kid’s whole body tense even further.

Dick steps forward, light on his feet, hands up placatingly. “Okay,” he says, gentle, “Good. That’s a good first step.”

“N-nightwing?” The kid stutters out. He doesn’t wait for a reply before adding, mostly under his breath, “Shit!”

When Dick takes another step forward, the kid scrambles up and off the guy, stumbling a few steps back into the alleyway. What little light remained is mostly gone now, but Dick’s eyes are trained for the dark, and he can see details a little better, now that the kid is standing. A blanket hangs over his shoulders, obscuring most of his chest, but there’s an aura around him, one that feels almost like Cass’ when she first came to them. Like he’s dangerous and Dick needs to wary.

Which, based on how hurt the guy is, he can’t say he’s surprised.

He keeps his voice gentle and encouraging. “Okay, okay, calm down, it’s alright! I’m not going to hurt you, I just gotta talk to you about what just happened, okay?”

The kid stays stock still, clutching his blanket to himself. He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on Dick and not moving away.

The guy on the ground groans wheezily, and Dick decides, against his better judgement, to check on him. If the woman running away from this area—which is what caught his attention in the first place—and the guy’s history are any indication, the bloody nose is probably deserved. But that doesn’t mean he can get away with letting this guy bleed out, and he wouldn’t want to, anyway. An asshole he may be, he’s still a human being, and Dick  _ can’t  _ ignore that.

Still, he keeps the kid in his peripheral vision as he checks the guy out, and somehow, he can tell the kid is well aware. Something about how tense the kid’s body is has his own hackles raising, but he tries to hide it. Weird yellow eyes or not, the kid’s obviously terrified of him or the situation or both.

“What happened?” He calls out, gently patting some of the blood off the guy’s face. His hands are weakly batted away, but he ignores it, checking out the damage. It could definitely be worse but it’s not great. He’s no doctor, but still, he can tell the guy’s got some cracked or broken bones from the beating.

When the kid says nothing, he looks over at him and prompts, “Were you in here already?”

Kids holding onto blankets like it’s their last worldly possession don’t just pick fights outside of alleys. Not unless they’re homeless and protecting their spot and/or things.

“....yes,” the kid finally says.

“And he must’ve come in and started mugging someone.” Happens all the time. Usually whoever’s sleep is being interrupted just leaves it be. No point in getting hurt or worse, just to save some poor schmuck, as someone once described it to Dick. “So you stopped him?”

He tries to sound neutral, compassionate—he can understand wanting to stop someone from being hurt and going too far. He’s certainly done it enough times in his life that he has no high ground to stand on here.

The kid says nothing again, so Dick lets it go. It’s obvious, anyway. Instead, still keeping the kid in sight, he calls BPD and swiftly gives the location of the man, explaining the injuries. Once he’s done, he stands back up, stretching out his legs and ankles some. Crouching for so long doesn’t hurt, but it’s good to stay loose. Just ask Alfred and his creaky knees.

“Okay,” he says to both the guy and the kid, “Police and ambulance will be here in about five minutes. So I’m gonna stay here with you, and we’re just gonna t—”

The kid suddenly jumps onto the fire escape and bolts up the steps, blanket flapping behind him like a cape.

“—alk. Okay, guess not. Stay here, criminal. Stay. Good boy.”

It’s easy to follow up the fire escape, across the roof, and onto the next one. Roof jumping is something Dick was born to do, and at this point in his life, it’s second nature. It’s  _ fun _ , possibly one of his favorite parts of the job, if only because it leads into flipping off buildings and  _ flying _ .

He can’t deny, though, that it’s weird the kid is running. Sure he hurt that guy pretty bad but he didn’t actually kill him or anything near it. Plus, he’s navigating the roofs just as well as Dick is, jumping over various fans and heaters and satellites like it’s nothing. He keeps looking back, eyes catching light, breathing so loud that Dick can hear it from half a dozen feet behind him.

(Is it possible, he wonders, the kid isn’t human? Other species usually stay out of Gotham and Blüdhaven, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s run into an alien or something. Maybe the kid just doesn’t want to get caught by him and get sent back wherever he came from. It would make sense.)

He tries to call out something, but really, what can he say? ‘Hey, why the hell are you running?’ or maybe ‘I’m not going to hurt you!’? It’s obvious this kid doesn’t want to talk. 

But Dick can’t just let him go. He needs help, be that in the form of a spot in the local homeless shelter, or something else. Maybe an in with the Justice League, if he’s an alien in need of somewhere to go. Maybe some anger management tips, no matter what species he is. Dick has tons of those, and he doesn’t mind sharing them.

His attention is brought back to their chase as they pass by an apartment building, one he’s steered as clear of as possible the past few years. The kid hardly notices, running away as he is, but unpleasant memories slam into Dick, sharp pinpricks of pain, humiliation, and fear making his own breathing go deeper and rougher.

_...You have absolutely no regard for your personal safety. But the people around you _ — _ well, that's a different matter. Isn't it?... _

Fuck, shut up. 

He shakes his head as if it’ll dispel the awful words, putting more speed into his moves, suddenly just wanting to get this done and over with. Of course, the kid only matches him, and speeds up himself.

They end up traversing all over Blüdhaven, hitting almost every district and running over so many roofs that Dick is pretty sure he’ll never have to train for it again. Through it all, the kid never loses his grip on his blanket, which only makes Dick sad, if he’s being honest. He can imagine holding onto something like that, feeling like if he lost it, he’d have nothing left.

When they hit a dead end, nowhere for the kid to go, he can’t say he’s not glad for it.

“Oh my god,” he pants out, hands on his knees. Trying for levity, he adds, “I’m dying. This is death.”

The kid, crouching in the corner of the roof with no neighbor—they’ve reached the docks, and if he tries to go any further, he’ll end up in the water—glares. Pulling his blanket up, he obscures his face even more, but Dick can’t find it within himself to care much. Kid wants to keep his identity a secret, whatever. As long as he talks, it doesn’t matter.

He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘why the hell did you run and how did you even  _ do  _ that?’, but the kid speaks first. His voice is loud and angry, and Dick senses the undercurrent of fear easily.

“Don’t get any closer!”

Dick agrees to that easily, shuffling a tiny half-step back. “Alright. Look, I really did just wanna talk. You aren’t in trouble for hurting that guy.”

“Why did you follow me, then!” It’s not a question. His yellow eyes are so narrowed, it’s a wonder he can see at all.

“Uh, because you’re a kid—I think, at least—and you clearly need help?” And Dick has an irrepressible need to help people, but that’s not something the kid needs to know.

The kid blinks, “...help?”, like it's a foreign word.

Heart strings pulling, he says, “Yeah. I mean, I’m assuming you do, and I know that makes an ass out of you and me, but it seems pretty obvious you need  _ something _ . I can get you hooked up with a room in one of the local homeless shelters, a job if you’re old enough… how old are you, by the way?”

Silence.

“Alright, you don’t have to answer that. Do you have a name I could call you, though?”

Silence again. Dick almost says something, but then, so quiet it’s almost blown away in the light wind, he hears, “Talon.”

He risks taking the tiny half-step back, closer. Thankfully, the kid doesn’t notice. “Talon? That’s a nice name. Pretty uni—”

“Are you working with Flamebird?”

Caught completely off guard, Dick asks, “ _ Who _ ?” He knows the name of most heroes and villains in this world, (and others), but that's not one of them. It's familiar though...but he can't pinpoint where it came from, why he remembers it.

“Robin? Batman?”

Who doesn't know about Nightwing's associations with them? “Uhh—”

The kid stands abruptly, so tense it has to hurt. Though still mostly obscured, his face creases with anger, and he shouts, “You are! You flinched! And yet you say you’ll  _ help me _ !” He laughs, and it sounds almost robotic, which is  _ super weird _ , to say the least.

“That’s sorta like my job, so yeah I’ll—”

“I don’t want or need your help! I’m Talon! And—you’re a  _ demon _ !”

“What?” He splutters, almost laughing. He’s heard some outrageous shit in his lifetime, but a demon? Him? “I'm not a—a  _ demon _ ! Where'd you hear that?”

“Big Dog,” Talon says, voice flat. 

Again, Dick asks, “Who?”

“He said you beat people as black and blue as your suit. That you flip and fly, and that you hunt people down.”

Oh. Great to know his reputation scares people, even if it depicts him as brutal and more like Batman than he ever wants to be. Feeling a little queasy, Dick shakes his head. “I only do that to people who deserve it.”

Talon’s face pinches for a brief half-second, or what he can see of it, anyway. 

“What’re you thinking?”

For a long, long moment, Talon is silent. Dick honestly doesn’t expect him to reply, but when he does, he says, “What if it was someone who was not a person but who deserved it?”

Confused, Dick asks, “Huh?” Is that Talon’s way of saying he  _ is  _ an alien?

“Stop hunting me!”

The quick turn in conversation almost gives him whiplash, and some part of him grumbles that he should be better than this. After years of dealing with the Joker, Riddler,  _ Wally _ , he should be more than used to quick-paced conversations. But something about this kid—Talon—throws him completely off. All of his conversational skills, all of his puns, everything, goes right out the metaphorical window. “What are you  _ talking  _ about? I’m not hunting you!”

Talon gives him a cold look. “You aren’t? What do you call following me across the whole city, then.”

Again, it’s not a question. It’s a fact he’s throwing in Dick’s face. An irrefutably true fact.

“I—”

Talon huffs out a breath through his nose. “I knew it was too good to be true!”

Dick doesn’t reply. He  _ can’t _ . Because when Talon moves, the blanket falls some, and his face is revealed. His  _ very fucking familiar face _ .

“I knew I shouldn’t go through!”

Talon’s face is the same one Dick sees in the mirror, if a little younger. It’s the same face. The same eyebrows, the same mouth, the same nose. The only things that are different are the skin tone—he’s so pale, god—and his eyes. His yellow eyes.

“ _ I knew it! _ ” Talon laughs, and it sounds so weird, so birdlike and robotic and angry. Like it scrapes out of him, foreign and painful.

Is he a clone? A shapeshifter? A robot made to look like him? Does someone know his secret identity?

If they did, why would they fuck up his eyes, though? And why would they be yellow instead of any other,  _ natural  _ color?

“Who are you?” He asks, taking a step closer. He tries to keep his voice soft, aware that demanding it won’t help him get answers, but anxiety and anger seep through.

Talon freezes again, weirdly colored eyes wide. He pulls the blanket back up, but it’s too late. Dick’s seen his face, the game is up, he’s been found out. “I’m Talon.”

“Is that your real name?”

“I’m  _ Talon _ ,” he repeats fiercely.

The sudden sharp ringing of his phone cuts into his next question, making Talon flinch so hard he almost loses his grip on his blanket. Dick wants to ignore it, but it’s his work phone. If he ignores it, bad things could happen. With a sigh, he pulls out his phone, seeing Bruce’s name.

Talon looks terrified. Fuck.

“Dad?” He whispers when he picks up the call. It’s true enough, and hopefully it won’t freak Talon out more. He still needs to find out what the hell is happening here. “What’s wrong?”

Bruce asks a few questions, being totally overbearing, and he answers quietly, not looking away from Talon. “No, I just, I’m not alone. Sorry,” he laughs, trying for levity, “Everything’s okay.”

Objectively, sure. But he’s got a kid who looks exactly like him standing here, and that’s certainly not something that Bruce would consider “okay”.

“I need you to come home, now.” Bruce tells him, giving no room for arguing.

Hackles rising at once again being bossed around (he’s  _ twenty-five _ , he’s not a kid anymore, and he’s certainly not Bruce’s sidekick, eager to please and taking orders without a fuss), he tries to be calm and keep his voice soft and non-dangerous. “I can’t. And like I said, everything’s fine. We’re fine, you’re just my dad, it’s okay.”

Talon relaxes minutely, though he’s not sure if it’s because of the words or the tone. In his ear, Bruce demands, “Who are you with?”

He pauses, unsure if he should tell the whole truth or not. If he’s being honest, he’d rather get information on or from the kid without his dad interfering. “Some kid I found on the street. He’s a little skittish, but it’s fine. Anyway, I can’t come in.”

“I need you here, Dick. Now. As soon as possible.” 

What, is he being completely ignored now? “I told you I  _ can’t _ .”

Bruce says, “Post the kid up somewhere safe. This is more important. Come home.”

“I’m pretty positive  _ this  _ is more important,  _ Dad _ .” Finding out who the hell’s been messing with his DNA and making copies of him, or a robot look alike, or whatever this is—yeah, it’s more important.

Again, he’s ignored. “Code Alpha, Dick. Get here, as yourself, now.”

Dick doesn’t dare close his eyes and let Talon out of his sight, but he does clench his fist tightly before stretching the fingers out, a technique of expressing anger Roy taught him once. “Fine. You asked for it,” he says, and hangs up.

Talon’s staring at him. It’s so freakin’ unnerving, it makes his skin crawl, but he puts on a small smile. It’s about all he can manage. 

He can’t leave Talon out here by himself, because he looks young and scared, and he can’t take him to a homeless shelter, because he’d be recognized. Which leaves one option.

“That was my dad. He, uh, he said I have to come home, and I don’t feel right leaving you alone, so why don’t you come with? Just for the night.”

Talon doesn’t hesitate to very loudly say, “I’m not going to Batman!”

“He’s my dad,” Dick repeats, biting down on the instinct to add ‘he’s not Batman’. Something tells him Talon will know he’s lying and then this’ll be even more of a mess than it already is. 

On the other hand, the connection doesn’t make much sense to him—while it’s no secret, Nightwing being Batman’s son isn’t a well known fact, so how did this kid know? Maybe he’s being controlled by someone who knows way too much. Maybe Dick shouldn’t bring him home.

But then, won’t it be best to deal with any situation like that with his family behind his back?

Talon shakes his head, unaware of the turn Dick’s thoughts have taken. “You’re just going to freeze me!”

“If you get cold, I’ll give you another blanket,” he says, because it’s better than saying,  _ again _ , ‘what the hell are you talking about?’. 

That makes Talon pause. Suspicious, he narrows his weird eyes. “Another blanket? Why?”

“What do you mean, why? We have more than enough to share with you.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, just blankets.” He tries not to sound annoyed, but it’s getting harder and harder by the minute. “Seriously, kid, I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t—” Suddenly sucking in a sharp breath, Talon stops speaking.

“You...you okay, kid?”

His only response is a sharp nod, yellow eyes intently staring at the center of his chest.

Feeling inexplicably creeped out, Dick asks, “So is that, like, a no?”, because what the hell else is he supposed to say in the face of himself, but a hundred million times more robotic?

“No,” Talon says, very quietly.

“Soooo, you’re coming with me?”

Talon stiffens so minutely, Dick barely notices it. “Yes.”

“Alright, well,” he says, pressing a button in his glove, “Let’s get the hell down from here. It’ll take a minute for my bike to get here.”

Several minutes later, Dick finds himself sitting on his motorcycle, Talon sitting extremely stiffly in front of him. It’s kind of giving Dick the heebie-jeebies, honestly, especially when the kid doesn’t react to the bike’s engine starting up.

Though his bike is modified to have a quiet(er) engine, people who haven’t ridden one before usually jump at the sound it makes when it turns on. Maybe Talon’s been on a motorcycle before, but then, he’s so easily spooked, it seems weird not to have any reaction at all.

Deciding to ignore it for now, Dick asks, “You ready?”

“Yes.” He’s so quiet. It sends a weird little shiver down Dick’s spine.

_ Ignore it, Dickie, _ he tells himself, revving the engine and going forward. At first, he goes slow, trying to let Talon ease into the sensation. Soon enough, though, they’re blazing down Blüdhaven’s streets. The farther they go, the more frightened Talon acts—he’s  _ shaking  _ against Dick’s chest. All the same, he kind of sinks into the feeling of the bike vibrating under him, making a weird purring noise. Which, yeah, okay, Dick can understand that. It does sorta feel like a massage, after a while, but in a non-creepy way.

He thinks it might be comforting the kid, because he keeps leaning back into Dick, before catching himself and leaning forward. He’s gonna get himself killed if he goes too far, and Dick has to bite down on the instinct to pull him back into his chest. The last thing either of them need right now is a wreck.

Distracting himself from  _ that  _ lovely thought, Dick hums a song he heard recently on the radio at work. Talon starts the cycle again, leaning back into his chest and then forward, putting as much as space between them as he can. It’s sorta strange, but when he’s leaning away, Dick almost misses the feeling of the kid’s blanket. It’s a muggy June, but the weight of it is soft and comfortable, and he’s not even the one under it.

The city whips past them, and even though nothing about this situation is even remotely normal, Dick can’t deny that he feels  _ good _ .

At some point, he starts talking, loud enough for Talon to hear but not anyone they drive past. He describes his family, wanting the kid to be aware of what he’s about to walk into, and also just because he likes to brag about his awesome siblings. While he’s not sure who exactly will be home, Bruce, Alfred, and the younger kids who still live in the Manor definitely will be, and there’s a pretty high chance they’ll all want to interact with the kid. 

Talon listens intently as he explains what Bruce is like, gentle as he says, “He looks pretty scary, but he’s actually really nice. He has a soft spot for kids, and though I honestly still don’t know how old you are, you fit that bill well enough. He won’t mind giving you a room to sleep in for the night, and you can eat, if you’re hungry.”

“Hungry,” Talon whispers, and again, it sounds foreign on his tongue.

“My grandpa,” and isn’t that weird to say out loud, even though it’s  _ true _ , Alfred is old but he’s not  _ that  _ old, okay?, “cooks meals for us all the time, and I’m sure there’ll be something for you to eat. My baby brother is a vegetarian, and my other siblings eat way too much junk food, but it’s mostly hidden in corners of the basement where my grandpa doesn’t go. You might get to see the basement, actually. Oh wow, that sounds so creepy. I’m sorry.”

Talon doesn’t really react to the flub, which is sorta like...very concerning. But it also makes sense in a weird way? Whatever this kid is, he’s probably not used to creeps or awkward people.

“Um. How about we talk about something else?”

There’s no reaction except a minute shift of Talon’s head to show he’s listening.

“Are you homeless?” Dick tries, already pretty sure of the answer.

“...yes.”

“Were you kicked out?” Is it possible he has parents? Guardians? Someone who’s waiting for him to come home, worried, or hoping he never comes back at all? The implications make him shudder.

Even more hesitantly, Talon says, “Yes.”

“Damn, that’s rough.”

Again, there’s no reaction. With a sigh, Dick gives up.

They cross over into Gotham not much later, and from there, though Dick enjoys seeing the city again, there’s an awkward silence hanging over them. Talon makes a tiny little noise in his throat once they’re over the bridge, and his eyes scan the skyline without pause, even though it’s a little early for Batman to be out. Occasionally his eyes scan the road for sewer holes, which is just as weird and just as concerning.

When they pull up the Manor, doing it discreetly because it won’t do to have Nightwing just showing up at Bruce Wayne’s house, Talon suddenly asks, “Is the Grandmaster in there?”

Dick says, “Huh? No, no, just my family.”

“Owls?”

“We have bats, but that’s about it.”

“Oh….”

Not wanting to take him through the Cave and freak him out, they go inside through a side door, Dick pulling off his domino mask as they step in. Alfred really hates any trace of their nightlife making its way upstairs, and he doesn’t have any cash on him for the jar.

Talon follows him in, sticking close. Once the door is shut behind them, one of the many hallways the Manor has stretching before them, he steps away. Then he sees Dick’s face.

For a brief second, pure shock is writ on his identical features. It only last a second, though, like most of his reactions tonight.

He snarls and backs up a few steps, looking very much like an angry and confused cat, ready to pounce on its own reflection, but way more dangerous.

Dick gives him even more space, hands up in a show of peace, and says, “Do you see why I thought you needed to come with me?” Nevermind all the other reasons. This one seems the most fitting, is all.

Talon backs himself fully into the nearest corner, crouching down all the way. It would be intimidating except that he also hides himself in his blanket again. It’d probably also be pretty cute if it weren’t severely weird. “Who are you?” He demands. “Who sent you? Cobb?”

“Who? I’ve never heard of anyone named Cobb.”

“I thought the Court was dead! Who are you!”

“I’m Dick Grayson,” Dick says, “What the hell is the Court?”

“The Court of Owls! Did they send you? Are you here to take me out?”

“ _ What _ ? Why would I—”

“You  _ are _ !!!” Talon screams, and though his voice shakes, there’s nothing but fire in his eyes. 

Fuck.

The sound of their one-sided argument attracts the attention of the family, and Dick is sorta surprised to see Jason among the horde that stampede in right before Talon can lunge for him. 

All looking a bit harried, their reactions to seeing two Dick’s—varying from Cass’ surprised little “Oh!”, Duke’s soft “Oh my god,”, Alfred’s “Oh dear”, and Damian’s “Tt” to Tim and Jason’s mutual “What the fuck” and Bruce’s hissed “Shit”—are way more tame than he expects. Why hasn’t Damian already threatened Talon with his sword? Why hasn’t Jason pulled out one of his guns? Why isn’t Bruce rushing forward to confront him? Not even Cass or Tim react in their normal ways, and though Dick doesn’t know Duke all that well yet, even his reaction seems muted. Weird. 

Talon’s still freaking out, looking more and more ready to kill Dick by the second, when Bruce says, “You too?”

Which,  _ what _ ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's trash tell me but be gentle lsjdflkdksjaj  
> If it's not then pls tell me bc I will cry with happiness and relief lol


	6. June 18th part 5: Jason-1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason can't believe anything he's seeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JE SUIS TRES DESOLEE for the long wait, but as luck has it, today my spring break starts AND I've already started writing the next chapter!! This one just fought me and didn't wanna be written, which I'm gonna blame on Jason and his Complex Thought Process that I can barely tap into :) lkdsjflksajdfjaf
> 
> Also it's like 10:40 pm right now which is,,, a Not Great time to post but idec, I didn't wanna wait for the morning. Also if this is trash, I apologize again, I'm probably gonna look over it in the morning and reword things if I have to. If anything else is dumb, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ this is rough draft? I'm trying to characterize correctly and possibly failing? My apologies???
> 
> ALSO I'm so sorry I haven't replied to your comments, I read each one and I thank you all for them so much!!! I love reading your thoughts and I'm so glad you guys are liking my nonsense so far!!
> 
>  
> 
> TRigger Warnings: Jason's potty mouth, anxiety, Jason-2 has a not-very-graphically described panic attack that I'm realizing now peters out with no explanation....fuck, Jason-1 has some reactions to Jason-2 and Bruce, and there's one (1) reference to Batman: Under The Red Hood via a quote from the Joker (who does not appear in this chapter)

### Wayne Manor, June 18th, 11:24 PM

Well, at least Jason’s not the only one confused.

“What?” Dick demands, looking between Bruce and creepy not-Dick and back. “What do you mean ‘you too’?”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” He’s only been here a few minutes, which is more than enough, he thinks, to be told what the hell’s going on. Except everyone just stumbled around their words in a very uncharacteristic way, and Bruce kept staring at him, and now this. _You too_. Does someone else have a weird clone running around, or something?

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, cutting through the confused tension in the air, “Why don’t we take this to the main living room?”

“No!” Not-Dick screeches. “I’m not going anywhere with you, _any_ of you!”

“Talon, calm down,” Dick tries, hands out in front of him. “No one’s gonna hurt you, I promise, it’ll just be easier to talk there, okay?”

“No! You’re going to freeze me, I know it!”

“Like in a refrigerator?” Jason asks, because really, how can he not?

Not-Dick—Talon?—looks at him, head turning so sharply it has to hurt. And though nothing on his face changes from the blazing scowl (which, by the way? Is super weird to see on Dick “Sunshine and Rainbows” Grayson’s face, no matter how pale and yellow-eyed it is), it’s clear he doesn’t like Jason. Then he laughs, and it literally sounds like a freakin’ robot bird. “If that’s what you want to call it now.”

“Okay,” Jason says after a moment. “You’re a fucking freak. I’m leaving.”

Of course, Cass clamps a hand down on his arm then, and though he’s not super familiar with her, he does know that her word is law, right behind the three eldest family members. Nevermind the fact that he’s the second oldest child, and she’s the third. The Wayne Family dynamics are fucked up, anyway.

Damian smirks at them, and so does Tim, the assholes. Duke barely seems to notice, staring as he is between Dick and Not-Dick. Alfred and Dick both give him pleading looks to stay a little while longer, while Bruce says, “Jason, I called you here for a reason,” with that _I’m The Boss You Have To Listen To Me_ voice. He absolutely hates it, but it always works.

Not that he’ll admit that. As far as everyone should be concerned, he doesn’t leave right then because of Cass, and that’s it.

“Thank you,” Bruce says absently when Jason pulls his arm away but doesn’t leave. “Now, Talon, we need to go to the living room. No one’s going to… _freeze_ you.”

Not-Dick is silent for a moment, and then he says, in a completely different tone, more calm and serious, “Okay.”

Which, _what_? What the hell just happened there?

Whatever, Jason decides, turning on his heel and heading to the living room. It’s not his problem. Actually, none of this is, but Bruce sure wants him involved. Because of course he does. He _always_ does. And then when Jason does what he wants but not the way he wants it done, he finds a way to make Jason feel…, well, bad. This is far from the time or place to get into what Jason feels about Bruce and the whole dumb family.

Sighing deeply, he steps into the living room, which is more or less the same as it’s always been, with it’s fancy furniture and large, imposing portraits of the family. Sure, the mantel over the fireplace with more casual framed pictures offsets that a little bit, but there’s no ignoring the judging eyes of Martha and Thomas Wayne.

Not bothering to look their way, he casts his eyes over everything else, finding that though it doesn’t look any different from normal, something about the room is making him itch. The front hall, which leads right here, looks the exact same as it did when he walked through a few minutes ago.

Except…. Oh, what the hell? Is that blood? On Alfred’s nice floors? He’d never allow that.

Stomach twisting a little with nerves he’s long been ignoring, he looks around again, noticing that nothing else is out of place. Nothing. Just some drops of blood on the floor, in a trail leading from the front door to here.

Unsure what to make of it all, Jason glances in the direction of the others, spilling into the room, and wonders just why, exactly, he was invited here tonight. There’s always the whole ‘I miss you Jason and want you in my life but I’m too emotionally stunted to say it’ thing, but that’s usually not enough. Bruce knows how much he doesn’t like coming to the Manor or Cave, and generally doesn’t ask him to unless it’s life or death, which...fuck. Is this life or death? Is that why the kids look so freaked out? Why Alfred looks so rumpled? Why there’s blood on the floor?

It’s sort of freaking him out, a little. Just a little bit, though. It’s probably fine, and he needs to grow the hell up. Jeez, Jason, scared of a little blood?

Shaking his head at himself, he flops into the recliner, throwing his legs over the arm casually.

With everyone finally in the room, spread out by the walls and couches and fireplace, he starts jittering, his toes tapping air. Again, he finds himself wondering what the fuck is going on—everyone but Dick looks serious and confused and on edge. Then Bruce says, “Dick, Jason, earlier tonight, there was a knock on the door.” Then, almost hesitantly, he adds, “It was Jason.”

Dick, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised, looks over at him questioningly, and Jason shrugs, ‘cause it definitely wasn’t him. He was hanging around one of his safehouses all day, reading a book one of the teens at the library suggested to him. If anyone asks though, he’ll say he was researching more rapists to cut the dicks off of. It’s always nice to remind the kids just who he is and what he does.

In the background, one of said kids snorts at their little exchange.

Bruce meets their eyes, first Dick and then Jason. His expression is like that of a brick wall, but then, it always is. Even with the uncharacteristic behavior—Bruce, hesitant? Not even on a cold day in hell—he’s shut down. It’s so annoying. “No, not him. A different Jason.”

“Can you cut the dramatics?” Jason snaps, stomach twisting again. He’s absolutely never appreciated dramatic pauses, and he won’t start now, especially not ones coming from Bruce. “What the fuck do you mean a different Jason? There’s only me.”

“And the one upstairs,” Damian says drily from his spot on the arm of the couch, Duke at his shoulder.

“What?” Jason demands hotly.

“Last night, a kid who looks just like you and answered to your name came to the door,” Tim answers quickly, “He called Alfred ‘Alfie’ and told him his dad, Bruce, is dead.”

“Don’t joke, Timmy.” Dick shakes his head, glancing over and meeting Jason’s eyes again. At his side, Not-Dick stares at them all, especially Bruce.

“He’s not,” Duke defends, “We wouldn’t joke about this.”

“So what, you let him inside?” Jason cannot believe this shit. “He’s upstairs? Did you give him my old room, too?”

“No! He’s in a guest room. Jason, we would never give your room to anyone else.”

“Yeah right,” Jason rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Dickie, you wanna go see the kid? How ugly do you think he looks?”

Snorting, Dick nods. Together, despite the protests of the other members of the family, they hurry up the stairs.“If he looks as much like you as they’re saying? I don’t even wanna know.”

It’s obvious which room it is, since the door is cracked open. Dick’s the one who pushes it open, and steps into the room first. Jason follows closely behind, heading straight to the bed. On it lays a kid, whose face...what the _fuck_. They actually weren’t joking.

That’s his face. This kid could practically be his twin. His skinnier, red-haired twin.

Suddenly, a body blocks the light from the hall, and then Alfred, evidently the body, clears his throat with no small amount of well-earned authority. Jason reacts instantly to the reprimand, stepping away from the bed, Dick doing the same.

As much as he hates doing what Bruce tells him, Alfred will probably always be able to boss him around with a well timed ‘I Expected Better’ clearing of the throat.

“Do try not to wake him up yet, boys,” he says, firm but gentle. “It seems he’s had quite the night, and he’s very injured. I expect Doctor Thompkins will be receiving a call in the morning.”

“Sorry,” they both mumble. Alfred softens his features, reaching out to pat Jason’s shoulder.

“Shall we go back downstairs?”

Together, the three of them leave, the door staying a sliver open. Once in the hall, Dick hisses, “It’s freaky how much he looks like you.”

“As freaky as that Talon kid looking just like you?”

Dick makes a face and shrugs. “It’s not settling in really… everytime I look at him, I get shocked all over again.”

“Yes, it’s rather odd.” Alfred offers his two cents, leading them towards the staircase. “I noticed that his behavior, with the exception of retreating to the corner, was familiar.”

Yeah, you could say that again. Jason only witnessed a few of the screaming matches Dick and Bruce had when they were all younger, but that’s more than enough for him. Dick, at least, has the sense to blush.

Ready to move on, Jason hurries back to the living room, and finds that the others are asking Talon questions, which he’s reluctantly answering. The more he’s asked though, the angrier he gets. Not that he shows it really at all. Jason can only tell because he’s clenching his fingers on his blankets so tight, his already extremely-pale fingers are going even _whiter_. It’s something Dick does a lot, but he never looked as much like Caspar as the kid does.

“There was a portal, and I went through it because it told me to—”

“And you just did?” Jason asks, appalled. Does Talon not have any common sense? Not even actual Dick would be that stupid, and he’s done some insanely idiotic things. And also—“A portal? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”—‘cause please, that’s the shittiest excuse he’s ever heard. Whatever this is, a clone or shapeshifter or _whatever_ , their scheme is already pretty dumb, and now they’re gonna blame portals? He has to laugh.

“Are you not a clone?” Damian demands, barely blinking at the creepy way Talon’s head turns to him.

“I’m Talon!”

Damian rolls his eyes, looking around at the rest of them to commiserate. Jason offers him an annoyed shake of his head. “We KNOW!”

“Not even Dickie’s this stupid,” Jason says, loud enough that everyone hears. Alfred gives him the stink eye at his rudeness, but whatever! He doesn’t have to be nice to this kid, even if Dick’s already wrapped around his little finger.

Talon almost imperceptibly flinches but still says back, practically snarling, “I wanted to get away from Flamebird!”

“Who the _fuck_ is Flamebird?”

“Batman’s sidekick!”

“Batman’s sidekick is _Robin_ !” Damian looks so offended, it almost makes Jason laugh. Kid’s way too concerned with his place in the family. Does he not realize that being the only biological child _plus_ being Dick’s favorite means he’ll pretty much always have a spot?

 _Ugh_ , Jason thinks, _kids_.

“Him too!”

“Okay, okay,” Dick cuts in, eyes narrowed. Uh-oh, Angry Nightwing to the rescue...or not, in Jason and Damian’s case. “Chill out! Can’t you see he’s scared of you two shouting in his face?”

Jason actually can’t see even an ounce of fear in the kid, but if Dick can, then maybe he is. Clone connection, maybe? Hmm, he’ll have to look into that.

He and Damian back off, and Talon doesn’t react at all really, but Jason stays away.

Sitting back from the center of the action, he can see, a little, how stiff Talon is, and though he doesn’t really feel bad—the kid’s involved in some serious shit if he’s Dick’s clone or whatever, and yet he says he came through a portal? Yeah Jason’s not falling for it—he does recognize scaring him won’t help anything.

Bruce tries to ask him a few questions then, but Talon has none of it, and refuses to answer.

It’s almost funny, watching everyone get frustrated while trying not to push too hard and make the kid completely clam up. He sits there in a chair, knees under his chin, with Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Duke standing around him, while Cass and Alfred whisper a few feet away. Damian watches from the couch, toes tapping agitatedly.

Then a door upstairs opens, and they all look to the steps, and _yup_ , Jason thinks with no small amount of trepidation. The weird clone is awake.

Bruce stands silently and goes over to the stairs, staying at the bottom while the weird clone stands at the top, shaking with the effort but visibly gathering his strength. Bruce’s voice is gentle and open when he says, “Jason?”

Jason, the _actual_ Jason, feels his chest go funny at the sound of his name. He crosses his arms, scowling. Hidden behind some of his so-called siblings, he feels okay glaring up at the weird clone, oddly furious. Who the fuck is this kid, anyway? Who the fuck made these clone robot assholes, anyway? Who the _fuck_ thought this was a good idea, anyway?

“B-Bruce?” The weird clone asks, eyes darting to and fro on his face. “What the….” And then he starts to hyperventilate, skinny chest heaving in a way Jason can see from a considerable distance. Though he’s not fan of the clone, he can’t help but wince in sympathy.

Bruce rushes upstairs, probably trying to help, but the weird clone stumbles backwards, quickly falling into the throes of a panic attack. The hyperventilating only gets louder, probably painful at this point. He knows from experience that once it hurts to breathe, things really are bad. Counting by weird numbers usually helps him calm down, but he’s not about to say that right now.

Around Jason, his siblings and Talon react by moving away, either closer to or farther from the steps. Because of that, the weird clone looks past Bruce to the movement, and he looks Jason in the eye.

For some reason, that dumb Spiderman meme where there’s two spidermen pointing at each other comes to mind. And so does a rush of...something—he can tell, with all certainty, that this kid is scared out of his fucking mind.

What the fuck.

“I just wanted to get away!” The weird clone suddenly cries out. He's so skinny, he looks like a scarecrow with tears in its eyes. It’s not a great image, if he’s being honest. “That’s it! This is _not_ what I wanted!”

“What are you talking about?” Bruce asks, gently. _So_ gently. It makes Jason's skin crawl with how foreign it is to him.

The weird clone blinks at him, ignoring the question. “Who are these people? Where the hell is Babs?”

Bruce doesn’t react to the turn, just answers, “Barbara Gordon? She’s at home, I assume.”

Why the hell is he asking about her? After Joker paralyzed her, she mostly gave up the life. Last Jason heard, she's going through the academy with plans to be one of Gotham's finest. Occasionally she still helps them out, but usually only when she feels the itch. That's what she said, anyway. And the new Batgirl has blonde hair, not red, so whoever sent these freaks to the Manor should know Barb isn't around much anymore.

So why the _hell_ is he asking about her?

“I knew it,” the weird clone replies, which makes no fucking sense, “I knew those fucking crates broke, I’m hallucinating, I have to be….”

“Jason….” Bruce steps a little closer, voice still achingly gentle.

“Bruce,” the weird clone cries, actual tears streaming down his cheeks now, “You _asshole_ , I told you not to haunt me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just stop, _stop…_.”

Something about the begging, the tears, the look on Bruce’s fact just brings it all back— _Gotta give the boy points! He came all the way back from the dead to make this shindig happen!_ —and Jason backs up a few steps, chest hollowing out. He turns around, trying to walk away, but Tim wraps an arm around his stomach before he can and keeps him from leaving. _Jeez,_ he thinks, _I’m not trying to leave, I’m just trying to get away for a second!_

He doesn’t want to think about this, he doesn’t want to hear the apologies, he doesn’t want to hear the tears in his own voice. Fuck no.

And of course Tim, the savior, the replacement, the _asshole_ , has to stop him. Of fucking _course_.

“Master Jason,” Alfred says, and Jason stiffens, thinking he's about to be chastised. When he turns around, shaking off Tim’s arm, he finds that his pseudo-grandpa is talking to the other Jason. Who’s apparently already so important, he’s got the Master title. Right. “May I come upstairs?”

Instead of answering, the weird clone sobs, biting his lip so hard Jason can practically feel it, then nods. While Alfred goes up, Bruce goes down, coming to stand next to Duke and Damian, who both gravitate to him for comfort he’s suddenly totally okay giving.

The weird clone rubs at his eyes, which then land on Dick and Talon, but skip over Jason and Bruce and the rest. Talon looks back with his weird, very wide yellow eyes.

“Who are you supposed to be?” The weird clone asks, voice rough with misuse.

“Talon,” Talon says, ‘cause he’s an idiot if you ask Jason.

“Okay….” This doesn’t seem to appease the weird clone, who narrows his eyes and looks Talon up and down. “Why do you look like Dick?”

Talon doesn’t seem to know what to say. Though nothing about his expression or posture changes in any way, Dick senses something, and cuts in. “Apparently he went through a portal? I honestly don’t know if I believe that but—“

“You went through one, too?” Weird Clone asks as Alfred comes to his side, close but not touching. Just like he used to with Jason, when he was a kid and having panic attacks of his own.

“Wait, what?” Duke asks, sharing shocked looks with Tim and Cass. And Jason gets it, ‘cause like— _what_ ? ‘You went through one, _too_ ’? Plural portals? Can he dismiss the whole portal story as bullshit if there’s two strangers both saying the same thing? Damian meets his eyes, and clearly conveys his own confusion through a classic Bruce Wayne Emotionally Constipated Eyebrow Furrow.

“Who were you running from?” Talon asks. He expectantly peers up the staircase, his gaze so intense Jason’s glad he’s not the one under it.

The weird clone’s face goes white, and Alfred has to grab his arm so he doesn’t actually fall down.

“I’m—I’m going to bed,” he says, pulling away from Alfred and going to his room. The sound of him locking his door rings out in the silent home.

“Well fuck,” Jason says after a long moment.

“You can say that again,” Timmy says.

Jason does, enjoying the way that Bruce’s eye twitches and Cass giggles at him.

“You said you were running away from Flamebird, was it?” Bruce asks Talon, ignoring the rest of them. _Typical_ , Jason thinks, more than ready to leave and not come back for another six months.

“Yes.”

“Who’s Flamebird?”

“Batman’s sidekick.”

“This is going to go nowhere, Father,” Damian complains, and Talon...twitches. Noticeably. Huh.

“How about we talk about it in the morning, okay?” Dick asks, setting a gentle hand on Talon’s shoulder. “Let’s make up a quick plan here and then go from there, but we can talk about the portals in the morning. When we’re all rested.” The last line is accompanied by a pointed stare to them all.

“Masters,” Alfred says, a thread of apprehension in his voice,  “The other Master Jason cannot be alone in his room too long. He may tear his stitches.”

“He seems to like you,” Duke offers, “I think if you told him he can’t be alone, he’ll listen.”

“Then I shall go and try. God help me, if he’s anywhere near as stubborn as our Master Jason.”

Which, wow, doesn’t make him feel all that great about himself. Thanks, Alfie, thank you so much. And everyone else laughs too, so that’s great. Yay.

“Do you need anyone to help you?” Bruce asks.

Alfred doesn’t respond for a moment, eventually replying, “No, I don’t believe so. Thank you, anyway.” Bruce nods in understanding, and they watch quietly as he goes upstairs to knock politely on the door.

Once he’s gone, Dick offers to take Talon to a guest room to stay the night, which doesn’t sound like a good idea to Jason, but he does suppose there’s really nowhere else for the kid to go. Bruce suggests a room near the weird clone’s, and Dick makes some comment about how there’s lots of blankets in that wing of the Manor, which makes Talon actually smile. He’s so fucking weird, Jason decides, unable to get the yellow eyes out of his mind.

“What about the rest of us?” He asks, getting more stressed by the second. “Can I fucking leave yet?”

“This situation doesn’t concern you?”

“ _Of course_ it concerns me, but you know what, it sounds like a problem for tomorrow. Hopefully that Talon kid doesn’t fucking kill all of you overnight. Maybe he can put my weird clone out of his misery, though.”

“Jeez, have some compassion!”

“You wanna act like you’re not ready to throw hands the second they pose a threat to the family, Timmy? Fine. But I’m not in the mood to lie right now. Maybe my weird clone is out of the equation for now, but Talon, he’s perfectly capable of hurting us. Didn’t you see his muscles?”

Cass agrees, meeting their eyes. “He is dangerous…. Confused, sad, angry. Fight risk.”

“You mean flight risk?”

“No. Fight risk.”

“See, the prodigal daughter agrees with me! Alfred shouldn’t be left here alone, that’s all I’m gonna say. Well, that, and can I _go_ now?”

Bruce sighs heavily, and says, “Will you be going back on patrol?”

“Probably.” He needs to bash in a few heads. Just coming to the Manor makes him feel weird, and now, after seeing everything the weird clone and Talon have done tonight, the feeling is magnified by like ten thousand.

“That’s fine, then, you can go. All of you can. If you see the newest Rogue—“

“Who?” Duke asks, smirking.

“—if you see _Idiot Asshole_ , question him. But do not reveal to anyone that we have...guests. Under any circumstances, do you understand?”

“Yessir,” they all reply, ‘cause he used his stupid _I’m The Boss You Have To Listen To Me_ voice, and none of them can help but do exactly what he says.

As he leaves, listening to the others teasing each other for one reason or another, he bitches to himself about Bruce and his stupid bossiness and how Jason’s much too old to be ordered around.

But then he thinks about it, and yeah, he’ll take being bossed around over the Joker finding out about Talon or the weird clone. He’ll take that over the Joker any fucking day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls lemme know what you thought, i'm Fragile about this dumb chapter....,,,,,
> 
> also if you wanna talk to me about this fic, or the batfam in general, you can find me at [dottie-wan-kenobi on tumblr](https://dottie-wan-kenobi.tumblr.com/)!!


	7. June 19th part 1: Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Dick question Talon and Jason-2, and then Bruce and Cass have a talk while on patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I just wanna get this posted, if there's anything glaringly wrong or stupid just lmk!!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: there's a bit of talk about coffins in this chapter pertaining mostly to Talon and the Court's use of them, but there's also a mention of Dick being in one (totally hypothetical, dw). ALSO!!! TALON KILLS HIMSELF IN THIS CHAPTER. It's not super graphic or violent, and obviously he comes back to life, but it does happen. I blocked it off if you want to skip it, it's really not that important to the story and it's a small bit so that's totally okay if you do!  
> They also talk about what happened to Jason-2, but it's not graphic. During the talk, there's a small mention of possible sexual violence to minors, but it's purely hypothetical and does not happen.  
> Also more talk about the Bruce from Jason's world dying because this shit isn't dark enough!!

###  Wayne Manor, June 19th, 8:22 AM

Bruce clears his throat, leaning back in his seat, trying not to make  Talon feel even more trapped than he already must. They are seated much like an interrogation, which this technically is, but Dick’s elected to sit next to Talon for the time being. He’s aware his son doesn’t feel totally comfortable with the situation, but they’re fairly certain Talon wouldn’t feel comfortable with anyone else. “I don’t wanna scare him,” he’d said before they collected Talon from his temporary room and brought him to the rarely used dining room.

Talon’s posture is stiff, possibly to a painful extent, and he won’t look either of them in the eye. Instead, his gaze stays demurely down, on the table between them. Dick, briefly, tries to offer him breakfast, but Talon doesn’t react.

Bruce makes a mental note to remember this, unsure if the non-reaction is because Talon isn’t hungry, or because of something else. In either case, the behavior is enough to have Bruce on edge. This boy was homeless and had no food products on him, so how has he been eating? More personally, any version of Dick not wanting breakfast cereal just feels  _ off _ .

He moves on to what they’re here for, attempting to look as casual as possible. This is just another breakfast in Wayne Manor as far as he’s concerned. “Talon,” he says, “I need you to tell me what happened, in order for you to get here.”

“Mission report,” Talon says back, robotic. “Since the Last Day, or since yesterday?”

Bruce and Dick share a look. “What do you mean, the Last Day?” 

“Grandmaster was there,” Talon replies. Staring at the table, voice blank, it feels to Bruce like he has no emotion at all. “I and other Talons were awoken, and Cobb briefed us.”

“You mentioned Cobb before. Who is he? And what did he brief you about?”

“William Cobb is my grandfather, and my trainer. He briefed us on a breach in our base, reportedly made by top enemies Batman, Flamebird, and Robin. Orders were given to protect different parts of the base. I was given the order to protect the coffins.”

“The  _ what _ ?” Dick’s eyebrows furrow with confusion.

Talon breaks long enough to shoot him an irritated look, practically spitting, “The  _ coffins _ ,” before returning to his previous state. It’s unsettling, to say the least. “I stayed there for several hours. Explosions hit several areas of the base, including the Maze Room, and I went to investigate against orders. I was seen by Batman and ran back to the coffin room before I was able to really investigate. Batman and his associates followed me. They spoke, and then Flamebird located me.”

“What did they talk about? Can you remember?” Bruce asks, deciding to skip over the identity of Flamebird for now. It’s unlikely Talon knows, anyway, and every time they ask, he says the same thing. ‘Batman’s sidekick’. He can’t imagine having a sidekick named that, though before Dick became Nightwing, he couldn’t imagine having a sidekick or associate with any name but Robin.

Talon quotes, pitch raising and accent changing noticeably, “ _ ‘Father, there were many Talons. Are you sure of what you saw? Some got away. This one most likely has as well.’ _ ”

_ Damian? _ Dick mouths to him, and Bruce gives him a look communicating,  _ most likely _ . None of the Robins call him that except his youngest, so unless the situation in Talon’s world is completely different, it only makes sense that it’s Damian.

In a different, much lower voice, Talon goes on, “ _ ‘Positive, Robin. It was a young Talon, and they ran this way.’ _ ”

“That was Batman, right?”

Talon nods, again employing a different pitch and accent. “ _ ‘There’s no way to exit from here, anyway, brat.’ _ ”

“Flamebird?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Is that all they said?” Talon shrugs, so Dick prompts, “What happened next?”

“I ran away from them. The hallways were empty, location of other Talons unknown. I saw no Owls.”

“Owls?” Bruce asks, suddenly recalling a memory from childhood. A creepy song all the children in Gotham heard, about owls and talons. What was it again? 

It comes back to him after a brief moment, and he shudders as he recalls his mother singing to him, “ _ Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head. _ "

“Yes,” Talon says, making Dick's 'duh’ face. Seeing two of his oldest child, one as he knows him, with tanned skin and newly-cut hair, one much younger, with extremely pale skin and yellow eyes, is deeply disturbing. Talon mimicking Dick's quirks, or rather having his own that just happen to be the exact same as Dick's, is only making it worse. 

“Like...the Court of Owls?”

Dick snorts. “B, that’s just a really messed up nursery rhyme. It can’t be—”

“Yes,” Talon says, smirking at the way Dick coughs and chokes at the interruption.

“So you’re one of the Court of Owls’ Talons, who kill whoever the Court tells you to.”

Bruce watches Talon’s face when he says it, and is unsurprised to see the minuscule flinch. Dick is no killer. Yes, he has his moments where he’s been so angry, he might’ve considered it, but he’s never let himself go that far. To do so, Bruce knows, would crush Dick, guilt weighing him down until he simply couldn’t stand anymore.

However, this raises more questions about Talon. When did he become a Talon?  _ How  _ did he become a Talon? And what happened to him, to turn his skin so pale and his eyes yellow? 

“Bruce,” Dick says slowly, “The Court of Owls doesn’t exist.”

“Yes it does,” Talon replies defensively. He glares down at the table, a tell Dick has always had when he’s feeling conflicted. Again, Bruce isn’t surprised.

“We need proof,” Bruce decides, expecting Talon to show some sort of tattoo maybe or a picture or something. A nursery rhyme with practically nothing to go on, paired with odd and angry behavior just isn’t enough.

\------------

Instead, Talon grabs a butter knife off the table. Bruce has only a moment to wonder if he’s going to eat now instead of answering, when Talon promptly stabs himself in the neck with it.

For a moment, they both sit there, absolutely shocked. They’ve seen death, horrible gruesome ones, children and young teens gone too soon, and even suicides. In Bruce’s experience, though, he’s never seen someone stab themself like this. He’s certainly never seen any of his children do something like this, either.

Dick cries out, “Fuck!”, as Talon falls forward onto the table, dead or dying. There’s suddenly blood everywhere, and Bruce jumps into action, grabbing the replaceable table cloth and pressing it to the boy’s neck after pulling the knife away.

“Oh my god.” Dick stands, eyes wide as saucers as he stares at Talon. “Bruce, what the  _ fuck _ , why would he  _ do  _ that—?!”

He can’t respond, too busy pushing Talon back in the chair, one hand going to the back of his neck so he can keep the pressure on without hurting him worse. “Get Alfred,” he bites out, but before Dick can even move, Talon’s blinking.

“Oh my god, he’s alive,” Dick says all in one breath, coming over to the boy’s other side. “Look, we’ll get you help, okay? You’ll be fine, it’ll be—”

Talon wrenches his head away, pushing Bruce’s hands out of his space. When the tablecloth is moved, it reveals that the cut on his neck is healing, the blood already clotting. “There,” he grumbles, “There’s your proof. Talons don’t die.”

\------------

“What the fuck.” Dick whispers, whipping his eyes up to meet Bruce’s. “I—?”

“Talon. Don’t do that ever again. But what do you mean, Talons don’t die?”

He shrugs, apparently unconcerned that there’s blood coating his chest and blanket, his legs and the chair and the table too. “Cobb never said how.”

“Cobb did this to you?” Dick’s voice is ice cold.

Talon responds in kind, shutting down completely and not offering any kind of response.

Adrenaline rush crashing, Bruce  decides they have all the proof they need that Talon is not lying about there being something, some organization that changed him, and ask Talon to continue his story. He explains what happened through to meeting Dick, who calms as the story goes on, where both he and Dick talk about what happened. Bruce listens to the whole thing very intently, making mental notes where he can.

They’re surprised to hear that the portal had a voice, and when they ask what it sounded like, Talon does an impression of it, whispering in a high pitched voice, “ _ ‘And if you go through it, Batman will stop hunting you. He won’t ever hunt you again.’ _ ”. They conclude it doesn’t sound like Idiot Asshole, especially considering the apparent softness of the words.

Bruce says, all the information Talon’s told them speeding through his mind, “We really need to talk to Jason.”

“Our Jason or—?”

“The other Jason, Dick.”

“Right, yeah, sorry. We really need a different name for him, if only for when talking about him and Jaybird at the same time.”

He can already picture the headaches it’ll cause, having to clarify every time which Jason is being referred to. “We can talk to him about it.”

So they go upstairs, Talon following after them obediently and silently. Bruce isn’t one to feel creeped out, but having Talon, still covered in blood because he’s refusing to change, follow them makes his skin crawl. 

They knock on the door, but there’s no reply, so they slowly open the door, expecting him to be asleep. Instead, Jason-2 is standing, against orders, clutching some sort of weapon he found in the room. It looks like the hanger rod in the closet, broken off and splintering on one end. When he sees them, he stares at Bruce and again screams, voice cracking with the strength and volume, “ _ STOP HAUNTING ME! _ ”

Talon doesn’t react well to this, and practically pushes himself between Bruce and Jason-2, who immediately raises the weapon like he’s going to actually kill them with it. The weird part is, Talon’s back faces Jason-2, and he glares at Bruce with such anger, the very air changes.

He’s not wanted here.

Taking that as his cue to leave, Bruce does, making significant eye contact with Dick and communicating that he needs to try to ask Jason-2 about what happened to get him here by himself. Dick nods and leads Jason-2 to lay back down. That’s the last Bruce sees of them, because he leaves then, and for some reason, Talon follows him. His movements are watched very closely, and it puts him even more on edge.

The kitchen is starting to fill up with his other children, fresh off a night of superhero-ing, so he takes Talon back to the dining room, where they finally get to actually eat, thankfully with a different tablecloth on the table. Talon barely eats anything at all, and Bruce wonders if it’s related, now, to his throat.

They’re silent for a while, before Talon suddenly asks, “Do you know Cobb?”

“What? No. I don’t know anyone named Cobb.” But he will be looking into it, now. Dick has never mentioned any biological grandparents as far as he remembers, and his search when Dick first came to live at the Manor hadn’t turned up anything. Maybe Cobb doesn’t exist in this world, maybe Cobb’s under a different name (which isn’t unusual when dealing with alternate universes) or maybe Talon’s been lied to. Either way, he definitely has some researching ahead of him.

There’s another silence, and then Talon asks, “Do you have any missions for me?”

Bruce glances at him, getting the distinct feeling he’s being tested. He says, “No, I don’t have any missions for you.”

“Are you an Owl, then?”

“The Court of Owls doesn’t exist here, Talon. There are no Owls, and because of that, I’m not one of them.”

“Do you have a coffin?”

“None in the house.”

“Do you have a coffin?” He asks again, his big yellow eyes staring right at Bruce.

“The only coffins we have are buried in the family cemetery.” It’s definitely not something he wants to talk about, but clearly Talon’s trying to get answers of his own. It would feel wrong to shut down a topic as innocent, if dark, as this.

He might still do it, though, if Talon asks about who’s  _ in  _ the coffins.

Talon doesn’t reply to that, just asks, “Are you the Grandmaster here?”

“I don’t even know what a Grandmaster is.” His fingers start tapping impatiently on the table. Yes, Talon is allowed his questions, but what do they even mean? And why  _ must  _ he stare at Bruce like that?

“Are the others your Talons?”

“There are no Talons or Owls here, except you.” 

“I’m Talon?”

The inflection implies to Bruce he’s not asking if that’s his name. “Yes,” he bursts out anyway, thoroughly annoyed. “ _ You _ are Talon!”

Talon doesn’t react but to stand up, blanket still around his shoulders, and go to stand in the corner of the room. Once he’s there, he lets go of his blanket, though it still stays up, hanging around him like a cape. His arms cross on his chest like he’s in a coffin, his gaze dropping to the ground in front of him, face blank and unmoving.

For some reason, the sight of it sends a fissure of cold through Bruce.

Then he realizes. This is what Dick would look like in a coffin. Obviously he’d be better dressed, and not nearly so pale, but the rest of it...yeah. He opens his mouth to tell Talon to stop,  _ please _ , but then Dick’s voice, familiar and comforting, rings out.

“Talon, kid, cut it out!” Though the words are said gently but firmly, Bruce can see the tension and confusion in his son. The war between being helpful and approachable, and being freaked out and angry. Still, he steps closer to the young boy, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Talon.”

“What?”

“I’m Talon.”

“Is that what’s wrong?”

The boy says nothing, and Bruce very belatedly realizes he needs to ask what happened to the child in order for this to become of him.

“Look, why don’t you sit back down?” He asks, gesturing to the table. Talon shakes his head, so Dick doesn’t push it, just goes and sits, oddly, right next to Bruce. Then he leans into him like he’s a child again, and Bruce wraps an arm around his shoulders, sort of stunned.

“What happened?” His voice is probably too gruff.

“Well, he told me how he got here,” Dick sighs, eyes falling shut.

Bruce knows it probably wasn’t good. The kid’s so beat up, it couldn’t  _ possibly  _ be good. Still, he expects something he’s heard before, like torture or abuse or something. Maybe he’s just climbed out of his own grave. He’s certainly had a run-in with the Joker, based on what they eventually realized was a ‘J’ scar on his cheek, but maybe he survived it.

“What happened,” he repeats.

“It...he…. Bruce, he fucking killed the Joker.”

All the air leaves the room, even Talon, still in the corner but thankfully with his arms down now, staying silent. He’s not sure how to react to this information—on one hand, he’s sorry and upset that this other Jason is a killer, too. His boy hated death as a child, and the fact that he’s killed in two different universes makes him want to curse fate.

On the other hand, their Jason has never been able to kill the man who abused him so badly, and the angry, parental part of him is viciously glad the monster is dead. Even if it’s another version of him.

“He said he’d been held captive by him for a long time, maybe two years. Constant abuse and torture.”

“Did he say how…,” he trails off, not wanting to hear what the answer is and unable to push these emotions away, not when it concerns his son.

Dick understands immediately, and pushes his face more into Bruce’s shoulder, mumbling, “Basically everything except  _ that _ .”

Thank god. Thank fucking god. It didn’t make what  _ had  _ happened to him right, but still.  _ Thank god _ . It’s bad enough that his Jason lived under threat of sexual violence for so long while homeless—if this one had gone through it, he doesn’t know how he’d react.

“The scar on his cheek was done with a cattle prod. A cattle prod! And he said it so casually…,  _ fuck _ , Bruce.”

He gives Dick a minute, not ignoring his son’s trembling but not commenting on it either. Anger courses through him, hating the Joker with every fiber of his being, but right now, it’s obvious Dick needs him more than he needs to be angry. Pushing it down, he focuses on his son, moving their chairs so he can hold Dick easier. When he feels it’s time, he prompts, “What else did he say?”

Dick has to clear his throat before answering, face staying firmly hidden. “He said that he went to Ethiopia, to meet Sheila, and basically that all went down the same as it did here, except. Except Joker didn’t blow up the warehouse. Apparently, Jason almost bled to death there, and when he woke up, he was in Arkham Asylum. Joker told him he’d left enough evidence that...the other you and me would think he was dead. But also that I was looking for him? And in the meantime, Tim became Robin.”

“He’s still Robin?” Bruce asks, unsure how to feel about it.

“I guess.” Dick sighs again, and Bruce rubs his arm in an attempt to comfort him. The gesture feels pathetically useless, especially when Dick pulls away, not so far they can’t touch but definitely out of his arms. “Um, he said that eventually you found out where he was being kept, and came to rescue him.”

There’s silence for a long moment, and when Bruce looks, he sees that tears are welling in Dick’s eyes. 

“Joker was ready for you, I guess. Jason said that there was some trap set up specifically for you, and that you walked right into it. The two of you fought, and then…,” his voice wobbles, “The Joker killed you.”

Bruce doesn’t react outwardly, but suddenly, there are thousands of thoughts running through his mind. Jason-2’s world has (had?) a Dick counterpart, and ones for Bruce, Tim, and Alfred, and he’d mentioned Barbara. Were they mourning two lost family members? Did they know what happened? Did they know their Jason isn’t dead, but  _ here _ ?

“Jason apparently grabbed a crow bar off the floor that’d been left by the Joker at some point, and shoved it through the asshole’s chest.”

Talon makes a noise at that, small and quiet and eerie. They both pause, wondering if he’ll say something, but he doesn’t, so Dick continues, “Um, he just sat there for a few days, he thinks, and then the police showed up. Gordon was there, and so were me and Babs. They kept begging him to open up the door to the room, which he said had to be unlocked from both sides. He said he didn’t want to, ‘cause he didn’t think he could walk, and he didn’t want to have to walk over the bodies.

“Then he said that he was basically waiting to die when a portal showed up in front of him. Said he could see the road leading to the Manor, but he didn’t know it was that until he crossed over.”

“How did he describe the voice?”

“Fake and annoying. Deep, smug, apparently like a car salesman.”

“That seems to fit the rogue better than the other example,” Bruce points out, not wanting to say Talon’s name outright, unsure if the boy was paying attention to them or not.

“Yeah, I know. Apparently the voice stumbled over it’s words a few times, argued with him, and said something about him being the easy one. Oh, and it called him the Red Hood and apparently like...shamed him into coming here.”

“...We need to see how Idiot Asshole treats kids.”

“Other than threatening them? Probably doesn’t care about manipulating them to get what he wants.”

Bruce hums.

“And, Bruce…?”

“Yes?”

“He seemed really, really upset.”

“Because I…the other me died?”

“Yeah. Like, he was crying,” Dick says, his own voice thickening with tears. “He said he’s so sad and angry and he misses you but you aren’t his Bruce, so he doesn’t want you, and he doesn’t want to see you either, because you just remind him that his dad—that’s what he said, his  _ dad— _ is dead.”

Talon makes another noise like he’s choking, loud enough that they both look over at him, and are shocked to see tears streaming down his face. He makes the noise again, even louder, and it sounds pained.

Dick stands and goes to his side, reaching out a comforting hand, but Talon bolts up the stairs. Dick follows behind him, as fast as he can, which manages to be just a little less than Talon. He hears a door open, the nearness of the sound indicating that it’s Jason-2’s room, and Bruce is left there, silently panicking.

###  Wayne Manor, June 19th, 9:57 PM

Bruce finds Cass in the Cave already when he goes down, training with a dummy. For a while, he just stands at the edges of the mats and watches, not even having to make note of what she’s doing because she’s so good. Each kick is the perfect height, each punch more or less correctly timed for a swift takedown. Really, sometimes it seems like he could learn from her.

She notices him immediately, and does a few tricks that make the corners of his lips quirk up. The poor dummy loses its head with one particularly masterful move he recalls her teaching Damian once.

Once she’s doing cool-down stretches, she calls, “Bruce?”, her inflection implying that she wants him to say what he came here to say and get it over with.

He steps closer, purposefully slow, falsely calm. Of course, she can see right through it, but it makes him feel more in control at least. “Patrol tonight?”

“Us?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

They get changed into their costumes, plotting out a route that none of the others will be intersecting. Duke and Damian come down while they do it, picking their own routes (which intersect often, due to them being the youngest and newest, and also, he suspects, because they’re friends) and changing into their suits as well. Jason remotely picks a route, as does Stephanie. Dick and Tim both indicate they’re taking the night off to stay with Talon and Jason-2.

“Drive?” Cass asks, and though he’s hesitant to let anyone behind the wheel of the batmobile except himself, he knows all of his children know how to drive exceptionally well. Plus, she’s been a lot of help already with Jason-2, so she deserves to have a little fun.

“Yes.”

She smiles when they settle into their seats, and he’s glad that at least one of his children seem to be happy. Making it a point to check everything before leaving, he can’t argue when she roars out, just as much of an adrenaline junkie as her siblings.

For a while, they cruise around, looking for any situations they need to intervene in before they get to where the car will be parked tonight. It seems like a slow night, as they don’t see anything. Instead of talking, they listen to classical music, which fills the car just quiet enough they’d still be able to hear police sirens.

Cass takes great joy in parking very precariously between two trash bins, and Bruce has to admit she does it well too.

Then they get started on their patrol, climbing up to the top of the building they’re parked by, and swinging for a few blocks before finding a mugging to stop.

The good thing about the Black Bat costume, paired with Cass’ ability to make silence threatening, is that the mugger doesn’t talk back or even try to run, he’s so scared. She gets him cuffed and ready for arrest quickly, and he thinks about complimenting her on it, but in the end says nothing.

They patrol for a while, at one point getting a notification of Two-Face prowling around near the docks. Bruce offers to go and help, but Duke says, “Hood’s on his way! We got this,” and then clicks off the line.

After that, they help a homeless couple by giving them money and food from the nearest place. They go up to the roofs again, but Cass sits instead of running and jumping off. Bruce follows her, sitting by her side and looking out on Gotham. His eyes trace over everything, almost hoping to see Idiot Asshole tonight, just so he can beat some answers out of the, well, idiot.

He knows the city better than he knows anything else, but the sight of it only reminds him of the other Gothams. The one Talon and Jason-2 come from, where things are different and fucked up.

“B?”

“Yes.”

“What do we know about the boys?”

He knows immediately she’s referring to Talon and Jason-2 without saying their names, which he’s grateful for despite knowing she’s only following the rule he set the night before. First he explains what Talon talked about, as briefly as possible while still keeping her informed, and when he’s done, she asks, “Who could Flamebird be?”

After thinking on it some, his guess is Jason. Calling Damian ‘brat’ is something all of his children have done once or twice, but with Jason, it can sometimes be said almost affectionately. With Dick out of the picture there, Jason would come next, though he wonders how the name Robin comes about in a world without Dick Grayson. Flamebird makes a little more sense, being that it comes from a story Clark’s fond of telling young bats. Jason’s always been more friendly with Wonder Woman, however, while Dick and Clark have a good relationship.

Talon hadn’t mentioned a third sidekick, and no girls, which cut out Barbara, Cass, and Stephanie. Flamebird could be Tim or Duke, he supposes, but it doesn’t make as much sense as Jason does. He can’t see Tim wanting to give up the Robin name, though maybe he will when he’s older. As for Duke, it sounded like the age difference between Flamebird and Robin was bigger than the scant three years between his youngest children.

Cass reads all of this in his expressions somehow, and she nods. “I thought him too. He doesn’t seem so angry there.”

“No. But Talon…what have you been able to ascertain about him?” Last night, she’d said he’s confused and angry and sad, but he’s sure she has more.

“He’s scared of you. Scared of everyone, and the house. Nightwing confuses him, but he feels safe around him.” Cass shrugs.

“That’s good. I’m aware Nightwing is having trouble dealing with this, but he should be fine being the one the boy trusts.”

“Hmm.”

They’re silent for a few moments, eyes scanning again. Bruce catches sight of Stephanie, hair in the wind as she flies through the air. 

“And the other one?”

He explains, even more briefly, what Dick and Jason-2 talked about, leading to Cass jumping to her feet. He follows her as she moves to a different building, letting her think before she replies.

“He’s grieving,” she says eventually, voice quiet to make up for the smaller building and the proximity of the GCPD station nearby. “He’s attached to Penny-One, and frightened by you. Hood is...weird, to him.”

“I’m not surprised.” It’s obvious that Jason-2 is weird to their Jason as well, based on the looks he was giving his counterpart last night alone. Not to mention Tim and Cass both having to stop him from leaving early.

“Maybe next will be a little Cassandra.”

He shoots her a look. “You think there’s more coming?”

She shrugs. “Why stop at the big birds? Why not cause more destruction?”

Cursing, he wonders why he didn’t think of the possibility. Is he that off his game? Will there be one of all of his children, including Stephanie, who unlike the rest, have a living and capable biological parent? It’s bad enough with Talon and Jason-2, their trauma already weighing down on the family and distracting him, but  _ more _ ? 

The only similarity so far has been deeply hurt children being brought from different universes, dumped in a world and/or situation that they don’t want to be in. If there is a Cassandra who comes, will she be even more hurt than his Cass? Will the other Tim be angrier, lonelier, uncaring? Will the other Stephanie have been put through even more than she has here? Will the other Duke be more experienced, more traumatized?

Will the other Damian be even more damaged by his mother’s cruelty?

Cass puts a hand on his shoulder, immediately settling him down somewhat. The anxiety doesn’t go away, really, but she gives him something else to focus on.

“We should move,” she says, and leads them closer to the roof of the GCPD station, then turns away, going Northeast of it. While they fly, she talks about the dance troupe she’s joined, not naming any names of course. She’s made a few friends, including a girl whose name she does divulge—Alyssa—and though he can’t see her face, he can tell she’s blushing.

Being around her has made all of them at least a little better at physical cues, and anyway, he’s more than aware of what his kids look like when they have a crush. 

He’ll still have to look into this Alyssa later, though.

They land on a stout apartment building slightly off their route, and Bruce takes the moment to scan the area, listening and watching for any crime that needs to be stopped. He thinks he hears scuffling, but that could be anything, really, like a stray animal or a homeless person on the street.

Of course, that’s when Cass, her hands very close to her body, says in sign language, ‘ _ Someone is following us _ .’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've made some aesthetics for the characters and I was wondering if anyone would wanna see them? I haven't posted them anywhere and they've basically just been helping me with inspo/visualizing the kids, but if anyone's curious I could post them on tumblr
> 
> thank you again for the lovely comments!! I'm super behind on responding, I know, and I'm really sorry about that. I read all of them and they make my day like fr.
> 
> That being said, who do you think's following them?? ~~and since there's not gonna be any in-family shipping, should I keep mentioning Alyssa orrrrr lmao~~


	8. June 19th part 2: Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra hears her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF sorry about the wait guys, this chapter fought me at every turn and I'm still not that happy with it but hey, it's done and I haven't updated in like over two weeks so. If anything is super bad/dumb/wrong, just lmk in the comments and I'll fix it.
> 
> Also I wanted to say, a lot of people thought JJ might be next. He won't be coming for a little while, 'cause I gotta work with Talon, Jason-2, Cassandra, and [spoiler] first. I can warn people before he comes onto the scene if y'all want?
> 
> Trigger Warnings: pretty minor and not at all graphic mentions of Cassandra's life with David Cain and the League of Assassins. ig also that Cassandra assumes Bruce's gender, and goes from using they/them to she/her with Cass without asking

### Gotham City, June 19th, 10:49 PM

She only understands one of the words. Well, that’s not true. She’s heard some of them before, but out of everything they say, only one of them is truly and fully familiar to her.

 _Cassandra_.

Her name.

No matter what accent it’s said with, it sounds the same, a jumble of noises coming together to make a sound meant just for her. A sound she doesn’t even want. A sound that’s been nothing but cruel to her. A sound that, nowadays, always means trouble.

When the people dressed in head-to-toe black armor, who’ve been swinging around this weird town she stepped into, say her name, she follows them. No one is supposed to know her name. No one is supposed to know who or where she is. _No one_. So she follows, taking special care to not get too close, to not make any noise, to not be seen. Something tells her to hide just as well as she would for any Leaguer, and she’s not one to ignore her gut.

They don’t say her name again, but they do swing by the building—she doesn’t know how to read the sign, but it’s obviously the police station based on the people hurrying in and out, and on their uniforms—she arrived by. Even just seeing it reminds her of what almost happened there, and what she cannot allow to happen again.

_Her shoes slapped against the hot road, so much louder than was safe, but it was much more important that she get away than take precautions against being followed. They were closing in on her, cornering her in this town somewhere in the States, she didn’t know where but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that NO ONE knew where she was, but they’d found her, they were coming, and she didn’t want to—_

Cassandra drops quietly on a neighboring building, keeping her head low. The sound of their voices washes over her, but the words don’t mean anything at all, and she doesn’t even care. It’s been a long time since she wished she knew how to talk, or at least how to understand words. It would help, of course it would, but she can read their bodies better than words could ever hope to describe.

_—she turned a corner, slipping into a disgusting alleyway, aware that there was no hiding from the al Ghuls but not caring, because she had to get away, couldn’t go back, she COULDN’T, she’d rather die, but they wouldn’t kill her, they’d drag her back and make her face what she’d done, she’d have to look upon her father’s body again, and she just could not do that, she couldn’t take anymore death, why didn’t they understand that?—_

There’s something weird about these people, and she’s unsure if it’s the general air about them or their costumes, or just...everything. One is a lot smaller than the other, and their outfits are heavily armored, so thick in some areas she wonders how they can even move. Part of the bigger one’s face is showing, and she studies the way his mouth shapes words, careful to keep her gaze soft so she doesn’t catch his attention.

_—suddenly, the air changed, the light, and the dead end had become something else, a circle, she didn’t have the thought or word for it, and she could hear talking but no words that she knew, where was it coming from, she looked up but didn’t see Damian or Mara or anyone, she looked at the circle again, looked through it to the dark city and the bright angry traffic, and it pulsed, it told her in the air, “this way is escape”, so she jumped through it, and when she landed hard on concrete, rolling to lessen the impact, she looked around and saw nothing familiar, which is fine she’s FINE she can—_

The smaller one’s whole face is hidden by a scary mask (well, not _that_ scary. Cassandra doesn’t get scared, especially not by facemasks, even if they do have large stitches on them like this one does). They both have capes, which look soft enough, but training kicks in, and she thinks of all the ways she could take someone down with just a cape. How she could take down these people, who said her name and radiate danger. She has a feeling sneaking up on them wouldn’t work, so she’d have to make her presence known, figure out how to get behind them, take the cape and wrap it tight around their necks until they—NO. No! If she has to fight them, it will be non-lethal, and that is THAT.

She forces her breathing to slow, comforting herself with the reminder that she doesn’t have to kill ever again. Not even these people who _said her name_.

_—there’s a man, he’s thin and ugly, and she only notices him because he’s not dressed like everyone else going in and out of the building, he’s wearing a three piece suit that’s all one color, and his hair sticks straight up in all directions, and he’s shouting into his phone something she doesn’t understand, just “Shut up!” and nothing else makes any sense except that it’s angry, and he’s looking around like a madman, and she runs away, reading his volatile, searching emotions, knowing with total certainty that he’s looking for her—_

She doesn’t want to take them down, lethally or not. Just because they said her name doesn’t mean she needs to do anything except leave this place as quickly and quietly as possible.

Still, she watches them for a while, noting that the smaller one is comforting the bigger one...by talking? Is that even possible? Well, the big one reads like he’s calming down, so yeah, she supposes it is possible. Weird, though. She’s never known anyone who comforts others without expecting severe compensation. It doesn’t look like that’s what’s happening here. It looks like the smaller one is happy to talk, to comfort, to share whatever it is they’re saying.

How strange.

_—where is she, she wondered, hiding behind a trash bin that smelled worse than all the other ones she’d had to face before, listening to the man in the ugly clothes storm past her. She categorically took note of everything he was wearing, all the same dark purply red, down to the shoes, and also his hair (a combover) and the presence of a shadow on his face. When he was a safe distance away, she got up and scrambled for the nearest fire escape, always having preferred the roofs to the ground._

The small one suddenly changes their posture. It’s barely noticeable at all, a hair’s breadth of a twitch, but Cassandra sees it. It doesn’t take any more than that for alarms to blare in her head, telling her to leave right now, to get away from them as fast as she can.

Because there’s no doubt in her mind that she’s been caught, and she needs to GO.

Standing slowly, she watches as the big one stiffens too, invisible eyes moving, clearly looking for her.

As stealthily as she’s capable of, she goes to the edge of the roof, scaling down quickly and quietly. She hits the ground lightly, and hurries out of the alleyway, sticking close to the buildings. Looking back is suspicious, and so is full-on running, so she does neither, keeps her head held normally if a little lowered, sets a pace like she’s got somewhere to go. Not like she’s running away.

She only makes it three blocks before the small one is dropping in front of her, hands on their hips.

Cassandra wastes no time in turning around, mind already running through possibilities of how to get away, but it doesn’t end up mattering. The big one is standing behind her, arms crossed.

It’s obvious that if she tries to go in any direction, she’ll be caught before she could even think her whole name. She tries it anyway, bolting to another fire escape that’s on a wall between them, and actually managing to get to the roof without either of them getting to her. Of course, when she gets up there, they’re both waiting for her, standing side-by-side and clearly threat-assessing her.

For a second, they both stare at her, and she stares back, calculating how she’ll be able to take down two bigger, stronger people who almost definitely work together and are familiar with the other’s moves.

If she can just topple the big one, it shouldn’t be too hard.

The second she thinks that, the big one takes a step forward, and Cassandra strikes, lunging for him. She knows non-lethal moves, and has every intention of employing them. It’s more important that she get away than find out what they know, and she certainly doesn’t want to leave a trail of bodies.

The thought makes her shudder, chest contracting in a distracting way that she quickly and forcefully shoves away from the forefront of her mind.

The big one doesn’t seem prepared for her to attack, which is weird, and then doesn’t even retaliate when she claws at his face, trying to get his cowl out of the way. There’s a nerve she can pinch and knock him out, she just has to get to it first is all and—

The small one plucks her off of the big one like she weighs nothing. Cassandra doesn’t let it disorient her, just rolls with it, kicking the small one solidly in the chest.

Well, she tries to do that, anyway. The small one ducks out of the way, coming behind her and trapping her arms and legs with their own. Cassandra tries to struggle, pulling out all the stops, all the tricks she’s learned. None of them faze the small one, who intercepts and stops each and every one.

The big one watches from several feet away, talking to the air, a hand up to his ear for some reason. Probably calling for backup, she realizes, and fights harder, thrashing and putting all of her weight into it.

Eventually, on the verge of tiring herself out and unwilling to reach that point, she stops and calms down, taking note of the body language of them both again. Behind her, the small one isn’t constricting but just holding, not angry but calming, dangerous but not a threat. Whoever this is, they don’t want to hurt Cassandra.

When she looks to the big one, it’s much of the same. Dangerous but clearly not towards her—it almost seems like he feels protective. Beyond that weird feeling, he’s nervous, concerned even, and it seems to be directed at _her_.

It doesn’t make any sense.

He steps closer, and unthinkingly, Cassandra sinks back into the small one’s arms, keeping her eyes on him. The one behind her allows it, holding her a little tighter. It’s a looser hold than she’d expect, but nothing about these people follows the norm, anyway.

Cassandra watches as he kneels in front of them, one leg kneeled down and the other up, a place for his arm to rest. His posture is attentive, gentle, nervous. When he speaks, it’s somewhat slower than how most people usually talk, meant to help her comprehension she’d guess.

The words sound familiar, almost, but have no real meaning to her. She just looks at him, face impassively blank.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize she’s not getting it. His gaze, which she can only guess at, raises to the small one, whose head is right behind hers. They exchange some words, and after a moment, though he doesn’t physically move, it’s like he backs off, leaving the smaller one to try to communicate.

She’s turned in their arms, her back facing neither of them. The bigger one stays in her peripherals while she focuses on the smaller one, which further relaxes her, if only because she knows she won’t be attacked without seeing it first.

The eye holes slide back, revealing eyes much like Cassandra’s, that stare into her own. Instantly, there’s a connection, like they’re on the same wavelength (she thinks that’s the right word). They communicate without words, without a sound, and finally, _finally_ Cassandra gets to share the fear, the anger, the sadness she’s been holding inside herself for so long.

The other person, the small one, she sits there and looks Cassandra in the eye and _understands_ , hears everything she can’t say but feels so strongly it _hurts_. The small one pulls her into a hug, and Cassandra falls into it, though she can’t truly relax with the big one at her back.

Because of that, she soon pulls away, but she feels better for it.

The big one asks, “_______ Cassandra?”

She tenses again—no one is supposed to know her name, _no one, how does he know, how do these people KNOW_ —but nods, reading his feelings in his own loose posture (he could spring up and kill her, she knows that, but he’s protective and concerned and she knows he won’t do anything).

Again meeting the small one’s eyes, the big one says, “_______ you go _______?”

Immediately, it’s obvious they want her to go with them. With strangers who know her name.

Frightened by the very prospect, she meets the small one’s eyes, hoping she’ll communicate something that’ll tell her what to do. Run away, attack them, go with.

The small one radiates _safety_ and _kindness_ and _we will not hurt you_.

And Cassandra is so tired. So tired of running. So tired of feeling unsafe, watched, chased. Tired of being alone, being unable to communicate in a way that others understood (even if it was only Dad who ever had any idea what she was trying to say).

So she turns in the small one’s arms, wrapping her arms around her neck, telling her with her body language that she’ll go with them. That she’s trusting them.

If they break that trust, Cassandra knows how to seriously incapacitate people, especially ones bigger and stronger than her. She’ll survive this, and maybe she’ll even get a night of sleep on a nice bed for once.

The small one stands, holding Cassandra in her arms still, while the big one does the same, his hand coming up to his ear again. He speaks, faster than earlier, and at one point his eyes slide over to her, and he says, “_______ you _______.”

Then he looks to the small one, and says, quiet and fatherly, “Cassie, _______ go _______.”

Cassandra carefully doesn’t react, just watches the small one nod and start leading the way to what turns out to be a large black car.

The whole way there, while they swing through the air, Cassandra tells herself that maybe the small one just has the same name as her, and that's why they said her name. Not because they know who she is, but because of that. Which means this whole thing could’ve been avoided.

She forces those thoughts away. There’s no point in dwelling on that—what’s done is done, and now she needs to stay on guard and make sure she stays safe. If they try to give her to the al Ghuls, she’ll be ready.

In the car, the small one meets Cassandra’s eyes, blinking in a way that communicates, ‘What are you thinking about?’

Cassandra shrugs, looking away, out the window. She’s certain the small one can still tell what she’s feeling, but that’s a small price to pay. It’s more important that she watch the turns and roads they take than conceal her emotions right now.

They go a long, long ways away from where she appeared here. The lights of the city leave them behind for the suburbs, which Cassandra has always hated. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run to. Eyes always on you, but not the kind that skip over to better, more interesting things, because _you_ are the interesting thing here.

The houses get bigger and bigger, and nervous energy blazes through her, though she stays as still as possible. It’s hard to, sitting on the small one’s lap, with the car crunching over gravel and sticks on the road, but she manages it.

Most of her focus goes to listening to the big and small ones talk, however. She picks out a few words, but none of them make sense together. Trying to decipher them, especially one word that starts with the ‘buh’ sound and ends with the ‘sss’ sound, only serves to give her a headache.

By the time they arrive, she’s clenching her jaw against the feeling, ignoring the small one’s questioning eyes.

They get out of the car and step into a cave. Cassandra’s seen plenty in her time, and though this one is much larger than those and full of technology and equipment she’s unfamiliar with, she immediately feels almost _at home_. Of course, the last one she lived in was full of Ra’s men, and Dad was there.

The small one makes a noise suddenly, and Cassandra looks over to her, flinching back a little when she sees the small one’s bare face. Black hair a bit shorter than her own, pale brown skin, identical eyes and nose and mouth. A scar on her right cheek that mirrors the one on Cassandra’s left.

She tries to communicate ‘WHAT?!?!?!’ to the small one, who laughs softly and communicates back, with the lowering of her shoulders, ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe.’

The absolute conviction there eases Cassandra immediately.

It’s weird, that the small one looks almost exactly like Cassandra does, but honestly, it’s not the weirdest thing she’s ever seen. And it’s better, having a clone or whatever, than being with Dad or any of the al Ghuls.

The small one reaches out, friendly, welcoming, wanting her to give her hand over. Cassandra does it slowly, relieved with the small one smiles and tilts her head, sucking in her stomach just a little. Asking if she’s hungry.

Cassandra nods—it’s been days, she thinks, since she last ate—and willingly follows the small one when she takes her upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quick translations of what Bruce was saying:  
> >“_______ Cassandra?” is "Is your name Cassandra?" (obviously he can see that she's the same person as Cass, but he still asks)  
> >“_______ you go _______?” is "Will you go home with us?" (they can't exactly let her run around Gotham, and anyway, the other alternate kids are there so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)  
> >“_______ you _______.” is "I'll tell you when we get home." (he's telling Alfred he'll explain what's happening once Cassandra isn't right there listening, even if she can't understand)  
> >“Cassie, _______ go _______.” is "Cassie, I'm cutting patrol early tonight. Let's go home."  
> >the buh/sss word is "boys" (Bruce and Cass are discussing either her brothers or Talon & Jason-2, idk)
> 
> ALSO I posted some aesthetics I made on my tumblr! [Talon's](http://dottie-wan-kenobi.tumblr.com/post/184111644949/a-talondick-aesthetic-based-on-my-fic-la-folie-de), [Jason-2's](http://dottie-wan-kenobi.tumblr.com/post/184156904837/a-jason-2-aesthetic-based-on-my-fic-la-folie-de-la), and [Cassandra's](http://dottie-wan-kenobi.tumblr.com/post/184156954427/a-cassandra-aesthetic-based-on-my-fic-la-folie-de). Feel free to reblog lol
> 
> For those of you who asked about Talon and Jason-2's relationship, something exciting (and emotional) there is gonna happen next chapter ;))) also another cameo by Barry because my dad wanted me to, and it's Timmy's turn to get a hug!! (I forget which comment said Dick doesn't get hugged enough by Bruce, but you're absolutely right)
> 
> Thank you again for the wonderful comments!! I'm gonna try to answer all of them this time lmao
> 
> *edit: realized I goofed up and Cassandra should've been able to understand both "Cassie" and "go" in that last one. it's now fixed


	9. June 20th part 1: Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce makes the rounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *looks at my outline*  
> Me: *looks at what I'm writing*  
> Me: well damn okay I guess we're doing things this way then
> 
> ALSO  
> Me: THIS IS A GEN FIC  
> Me: *makes several insinuations*  
> Me: yeah okay it's mostly gen it's fine
> 
> I'm posting this so late at night fuck sorry dkfljaskldfskljflskajf I just got it done late and had my lovely friend Cali beta it bc I wasn't super sure of it. They're amazing and beta'd it on the same night <333 thank you so much ily
> 
> Trigger Warnings: introspection on a lot of things, one of those being the torture Jason-2 went through (not super graphic), J-2 kinda has a panic attack, small amounts of blood and injury, some references to the Court of Owls and what the Talonization process is like (not graphic at all)

###  Wayne Manor, June 20th, 1:14 AM

Once Cass and Cassandra are heading upstairs to Alfred, who’d reacted to the news of another alternate calmly (though it’s obvious to Bruce that he’s a little upset he had to hear over  code instead of in person), Bruce sits heavily in his chair. The Batcomputer still shows the map, and for a few minutes, he just watches the dots of his sons and Steph move around Gotham.

Before he can get back to work, an alert for a call from Barry comes onto the screen. Bruce accepts it, scooting back a little so he’ll be more centered on the video call.

“Bruce!” Barry calls the second the connection goes through. “So, I was thinking—”

“Barry.” Didn’t he say he didn’t need any help?

“—that weird energy we saw, I looked into it a little bit—and I know you said not to, but I just got so bored, it’s not like it took very long anyway—I looked into it and remember how I said it’s similar to time travel energy? See, some of the components of it are different, but it really looks like the basis of it is the same. Like maybe—”

“Barry.”

“—someone took time travel energy and changed it, but I don’t know what they’re trying to achieve? That energy is already pretty, heh, difficult to control, and the consequences of it are...oof. Anyway, yeah, it’s usually not worth it to tamper with the equations and stuff of time travel, so who or whatever did this is probably pretty stupid, honestly—”

“ _ Barry _ .”

“Oh! Sorry, hi. What? Do you know what they’re doing with it?”

Bruce considers telling him—’Yes, I do know,’ he’d say, ‘It’s a Rogue we’re calling Idiot Asshole, and he’s been stealing children from other universes and dumping them here, and they’re all  _ my  _ kids, my Dick and Jason and Cass, but they’re traumatized and hurt and clearly don’t like or trust me. The energy isn’t time travel but most likely  _ dimensional  _ travel, or at least I think so, and they’re all coming here through portals. Portals! Like this is some sci-fi show!’—but of course he doesn’t. Barry would be able to help to some degree (and maybe they should have Bart come by…), but the thought of revealing all that information. Putting his children, both his actual ones and the ones he’s suddenly in charge of, at risk, just because he wants another opinion. It doesn’t sit well with him, not at all.

Plus, he doesn’t know everything yet. He still hasn’t taken Talon’s blood like he did with Jason-2, and he now has to do that with Cassandra as well. He hasn’t sat down and talked to really any of his children about how they’re feeling about this. He hasn’t talked to Dick, Jason, and Cass about having alternate versions of themselves, and hasn’t heard from Jason since he left for patrol on the 18th. In addition to that, the idea of setting up a program that looks for the energy and sends out alerts when it shows up has been in his mind ever since his last call with Barry, but he’s had no time to even begin the project.

He could ask Barry to do it…. No. As much as he trusts Barry, these are his children. Barry’s motor mouth has been passed on to the younger Flashes, and Bruce doesn’t trust them nearly as much to keep this a secret. And anyway, the program wouldn’t be up to his standards.

Maybe he could ask Tim to do it. He’s aware, vaguely, that Tim’s been running around the Manor feeling useless. If he lets it lie much longer, his son will probably do it on his own, having thought up the idea by himself. Would he feel happy that he has something to do, or ignored and used? It’s hard to tell with him, but the days of being largely pushed to the side so Bruce can deal with this whole mess make him think it’ll lean toward the second option.

Dammit, he desperately needs to talk to his kids.

“Bruuuuuce….”

He clears his throat, a little embarrassed to have gotten so distracted.  “I’m looking into it. There was another case in downtown Gotham tonight.”

“You checked it out, right? What’d you find?” Excitement is nearly making his face vibrate.

He doesn’t want to lie, but there’s no chance of telling the truth here. “Yes, I checked it out. There was nothing at the site.” Not technically a lie, but only because they didn’t check the site of the energy. He’s not actually sure where it opened up, and it seems like Cassandra is mute, at least more than Cass was when he first met her. 

He’ll have to get that program set up as soon as possible. He knows where Talon and Jason-2 showed up mostly because they told someone, and can investigate those areas—yet another thing that needs to be done—so the same needs to be done for Cassandra.

Maybe he could ask Tim to help him do that part.

“Hey, have you thought about making a system that looks for the energy signatures? I think it could really be useful, and you know, I could help you with it.”

He looks so hopeful. Sometimes it astounds Bruce that people who’ve seen the kind of things any Justice League member has, and still be so...optimistic. Happy.  _ Hopeful _ . “Thank you,” he says, “I’ll look into that as well. For now, however, your help is not necessary.”

Barry doesn’t seem terribly surprised, almost grinning at Bruce’s words. Still, he tries, “If you’re sure….”

“I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Goodnight.”

“‘Night, Bruce.”

They hang up, and Bruce sits for a second, just staring at the screen. A headache is starting to form, in the back and top of his head, which means either stress or tension. Great. Resolving to ignore it, he begins to set up the program, which in the end doesn’t take much more work than taking the one they already have to time travel energy and tweaking it a bit. He’ll still ask Tim to look into it, and he’ll find some time to spend with Duke and Damian too, and he’ll check in with Dick and Cass, reach out to Jason, see how Alfred’s taking this too—

—he probably won’t be sleeping tonight.

He closes his eyes and sighs. It’s fine. He can manage one night without sleep; he’s certainly done it before.

Before he can think on it anymore, Alfred sends a message down, explaining that Cass and Cassandra are done eating, and Cass wants Bruce to come upstairs. He quickly changes out of his costume, throwing on a t-shirt he thinks might actually be Jason’s (though he’s not sure why it would be in the Cave’s cache of extra clothes, or in his stack) and sweatpants.

When he finds them, Cassandra is staring at the pictures on the wall, looking at each and every person in each and every photo. The amount of attention she’s giving this process is familiar to him, though Cass has mellowed out quite a bit since she first came to live here. Damian was like this too, according to Dick, but they think that was more out of insecurity and jealousy than...whatever reason Cassandra is doing it. Probably trying to read if they’re all actually happy.

The one she’s looking at right now is a picture of Dick, Tim, Cass, and Steph, from before Jason came back and Damian came in the first place and Bruce died. They went out bowling, and though Dick and Steph look like they’re having fun and enjoying the experience, Tim looks determined and Cass bored and a little distracted. The scoreboard is easily seen in the background, and it shows that somehow, Cass is still number one, Tim a close second. Dick’s score is pathetic, far below what Bruce knows he’s capable of, while Steph’s tells him she was trying but not that hard.

It’s one of his favorite pictures on the wall, though he has to admit the one next to it, of Jason, fourteen years old with a party hat on his head and cake smashed all over his face, a large smile on his lips, is a favorite too.

Cass makes a noise, and he looks at her, unsurprised that she’s several feet away from the little girl. He’s also unsurprised to see Alfred hovering from even farther away, pretending he’s just dusting. At nearly two in the morning.

Leaving that be for now, he asks Cass with a slightly raised eyebrow and nigh-indiscernible tilt down of his chin if she’s okay. Though he’s not quite sure how, it’s obvious to him she’s not in the mood for talking anymore, so he goes for nonverbal cues.

Her crossed arms loosen a little, and the fingers of her left hand tap against her elbow.  _ Okay _ , she’s saying,  _ but not forever _ .

He shifts on his feet, first leaning on his right leg, then his left, before pushing the right foot forward a little.  _ Need me to stay? _

She shakes her head, flicking her eyes in the direction Alfred is in. As long as Alfred is there, she’ll be fine. Still, he communicates that she can come and find him if she needs to, and she nods her understanding.

He stays for another minute, watching Cassandra analyze the pictures. She’s moved onto one of Damian and Duke, dressed in expensive suits and looking bored and irritated at a gala, and she’s smirking. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s adorable all the same.

And it reminds him of the other two children, and how as far as he’s seen, Jason-2 has never smiled or laughed since he came here. Talon has, but it’s been creepy,  _ unnatural _ , and not out of actual amusement.

He thinks about Dick and Jason, their smiles and laughs, even the ones when they’re furious with him. He thinks about Cassandra, amused by her alternate universe brothers’ pain. He thinks about Cass, standing here, watching him watch her.

Resolving himself, he stands a little straighter, and goes upstairs. While Tim and Dick stayed home to help Alfred, the other three did go out on patrol, so there are only four of his boys around for him check on.

He walks past Dick’s room and hears him talking on the phone. All Bruce can decipher before he moves on is Dick laughing and saying, “Kory, your garden is fine, I promise you.”

Tim’s door is cracked open, and when Bruce peeks in, he doesn’t look up from his computer, impatiently waving him away. Bruce makes sure there’s a water bottle on his desk before leaving, unwilling to let him dehydrate.

Next up is Talon. Bruce approaches his door quietly but not silently, not wanting to scare the boy. It doesn’t end up mattering, however, because when he pushes the door open more, he finds that Talon’s curled up under the bed, asleep. There are several blankets piled up on and around him, and despite the hardwood floor, he looks comfortable.

Dark circles stand out in sharp contrast from his pale skin. Dick gets those too, and they can get so dark they make him look like he’s been punched. Usually he puts on eye makeup—and Bruce’s reminded of all the times his son has complained about companies not giving a shit about medium to dark skin tones, and how hard it is for him to match his shade. He wonders if there are any shades that could match Talon’s, but it’s doubtful he’d even want to wear it. 

As he continues to watch the boy’s chest rise and fall, he realizes he doesn’t actually know Talon. Maybe he was born the same as Dick, but their lives have diverged significantly, and he really has no idea about any of Talon’s opinions, because he hasn’t  _ shared  _ any. 

Rubbing his face exhaustedly, Bruce silently moves the door back the way he found it, and moves on to Jason-2, glad that Talon hasn’t woken up while he’s been creepily watching him sleep.

Jason-2 is mumbling something when Bruce walks in. Sprawled on his bed, the different bandages and wraps are obvious—and there goes another thing on the to do list. Call Leslie—and painful to look at. He can’t look away, though, forcing himself to catalogue every injury the Joker caused this version of his son. The low light from the lamp shades the ‘J’ scar some, but it’s still clear to Bruce.

The savagery it would take to inflict that on a child. The pain Jason-2 must’ve been in. It makes Bruce’s stomach turn angrily, his fists clench and heat rise in him like in an old cartoon. More than anything, it reminds him of his own Jason, beaten nearly to death and blown up. Both of them, horribly brutalized, and for what? To get back at him? For a laugh? God, why didn’t he hit Joker harder last time he saw that—

“Dad…?” Jason-2 says, and Bruce’s heart stutters in his chest. Moving closer, he finds that the boy’s eyes are still closed, his mouth turned down.

In a whisper, he asks, “Jason?”

For a second, there’s no reaction. It’s probably a good thing, he tells himself. Jason-2 doesn’t want to see him. He wouldn’t take kindly to Bruce being in his room. That thought doesn’t stop the sharp pain that lances through him, not when his son is here, calling out for his dead father in his sleep. He just wants a moment with Jason-2, awake, just wants to know how similar he is to Jason, wants to make sure…. Well, he doesn’t know what. Something, anything.  _ Anything _ .

Jason-2’s eyes flutter open.

When he sees Bruce, he smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out on a rainy day, crooked teeth adorably—

A scream pierces the air, so loud and frightened that he flinches away from it. Immediately after, all of his instincts, trained to react to screams, have him stepping forward, trying to soothe. Jason-2, on the other hand, scrambles backward, crying out again when he leans too much weight on his wrapped wrist.

“Jason,” he tries, but the boy just screams again, lifting the broken hanger rod and holding it protectively in front of him.

And then, because this is Bruce’s life and nothing is ever easy, there are suddenly two more children in the room. Cassandra crouches just inside the room, eyes cataloging every inch of him. Talon goes for the more direct route and jumps up onto the bed, standing over Jason-2 and brandishing a knife.

Sound in the hall indicates more people have come at the sound of screaming, and though Bruce doesn’t dare move, he can tell it’s Alfred, Cass, and Tim based on the way they’re breathing. Cass edges in, sidestepping Cassandra and coming up just behind Bruce.

“Jason,” she calls softly. Sobbing now and cradling the wrist to his chest, he shakily looks at her.

Neither of them get in another word before Talon makes an animal noise, furious and radiating danger. He swipes out his knife, though he doesn’t react at all when Bruce and Cass are both forced to step back.

Bruce looks into his cold yellow eyes and tries to talk to him like he would to Dick, if Dick were ever so angry with him that he was ready to kill him. ...Should be easy, really. “Talon, it’s okay, I was just—”

In the flattest, loudest,  _ deadest  _ voice Bruce has ever heard, Talon interrupts, “I know who you are, and I will NOT let you kill him!”

There’s a breathless pause, everyone taking in the words. The only sound is Jason-2 still crying, sniffing and making this awful whimpering sound like he’s trying to be quiet and just can’t manage it.

Slowly, Bruce raises his hands, says, “Talon. I’m not going to hurt him. I was just checking on him.”

“I SAID, I will not let you kill him!”

Tim, from the hall, starts to talk, but again, Talon swings out his knife. It catches on Bruce’s shirt (that he’s now pretty sure  _ is  _ Jason’s—it has some Coast City team logo on it, probably a gift from Kyle) and cuts into Bruce’s chest, drawing blood. It hurts immediately, a weird stinging ache, but he ignores it, positive it’s not deep enough to need stitches.

“ _ Back away, Batman _ ,” he hisses.

“He was just—”

“Get out!” Jason-2 yells, his voice cracking hoarsely. “Get the fuck out!”

Cass presses herself to the wall, and Cassandra stands, allowing him to back out of the room. Talon watches his every movement, and blood drips off his knife onto the bed. 

As soon as he’s out, Cassandra inches toward the bed, reading the boys’ body language and clearly communicating with Talon, who glances at her every few seconds before looking back at Bruce. After a moment, she’s allowed onto the bed, and goes to Jason-2’s side, taking the broken rod and sitting just in front of him. It’s clear she’s the next line of protection if he tries to come back into the room.

It’s shocking to see his children like this. Scared of him, ready to protect their brother, who they barely know at all. Dick standing over Jason and Cass, ready to  _ kill him _ . Completely different people, even from the way they’ve acted up to this point, yet still his children.

Tim, now standing next to Bruce, is shaking. A little ways down the hall are Dick, Duke, and Damian, the latter two half dressed in their suits still. 

Alfred gently clears his throat, taking two tiny steps toward the door. “Master Talon, I need to… I need to make sure Master Jason hasn’t hurt his wrist any further. May I come into the room?”

Talon stares for a long, long moment, eventually threatening, “I will know if you try to make him Talon.”

Swallowing, Alfred nods, and swears, “I promise I will do no such thing.”

“Fine.” He moves so he’s on Jason-2’s other side, knife deceptively held loosely. His eyes track to Cass, and he says, “ _ Leave _ .”

Cassandra makes a noise. It’s low and commanding, even though there’s no real sound to it, no vowel or consonant or anything. Talon immediately backs down, and Cass moves forward, meeting Alfred and going to the first aid kit. 

Bruce lets himself exhale, backing away more while staying in Talon’s line of sight. The boy isn’t looking at him but it’s clear that he’s aware of Bruce, body tense and pointed, subtly, in his direction.

Tim notices, and slowly goes to the door, making every movement known to the three children. Talon and Jason don’t seem worried by him at all, and though Bruce wonders, he’s well aware now’s not the time to ask.

Slipping away from the door himself, he goes towards the other boys. Damian immediately demands, “ _ What _ is going on, Father?”

What  _ is  _ going on? His head is kind of spinning. “I was just checking in on Jason-2, when he woke up. He screamed when he saw me, which alerted Talon and Cassandra to come running to the room to protect him. And now I have a feeling that if I step back in there, Talon would probably kill me.”

“Cassandra?” All three ask together, and he realizes they don’t even  _ know _ . He wanted to tell them in person, but not like this.

“Why Cass and I finished patrol early,” he explains. “She was following us around. We engaged. She came home with us.”

“And now Talon’s trying to kill you?” Dick looks confused, pained little creases forming from his furrowed eyebrows. Pointing to the cut, he asks, “Did he do that?”

“Oh god,” Duke whispers, leaning closer. 

Damian glares at the cut and scoffs out, “Todd was right. He is too dangerous to be left alone. I hope Cassan— _ Cass _ and Timothy can handle it without being killed.” With that, he rolls his eyes and stalks off to his room.

Dick makes a noise that’s half a sigh, half a groan. “I’m gonna go try and help with the kids,” he tells them, and heads over.

Once they’re alone, Duke meets Bruce’s eyes. “Are you… I mean, holy shit, B. That looks bad.”

Bruce barely glances at the cut. Instead, after a second’s hesitation, he reaches out and rests his hand on Duke’s shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt,” he lies, “It’s just a scratch.”

Duke doesn’t look the least bit reassured, but he doesn’t push it. “Sure. Just...make sure Alfred looks you over or something, man. And I’m so not gonna be the one telling Jay you got his shirt ruined.”

“He knew the risks putting it in with the clothes downstairs.”

“Actually, I stole it from him, and he’s been asking for it back.” Duke grins, eyes sparkling. “He’s gonna be pissed.”

Despite himself, and despite everything that just happened, a smile tugs at Bruce’s lips. “Oh, thank you, Duke. Thank you so much.”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll make sure I’m out of town when you tell him, ‘cause he’s probably gonna level a few city blocks. It’s a gift from  _ Kyle _ , ya know.”

“The horror,” he jokes, straight-faced. “Why don’t you go and get changed? I have to stay and make sure this mess doesn’t get any worse.”

“Alright. Goodnight, B.”

“‘Night, Duke.”

After that, he loiters around for a while, listening to the sounds of Dick and Cass attempting to get the kids to not be so scared of Bruce. Jason doesn’t seem all that scared, just insists on not wanting to see Bruce, while Cassandra makes no noise at all, and Talon argues fiercely that he’s Batman and they’re all at risk of being turned into Talons or killed.

“He’s not going to hurt any of us,” his children reply, but Talon isn’t interested in their, what he believes is, placations.

An eternity passes, standing there in the hall, listening to the boy explain how he found out about Batman (Damian calling him Father), how he tested the waters with his questions and found out he’s Talon (they ask what he means by that, that’s his name isn’t it?, and he makes that horrible laugh again), how he realized Jason-2 and now Cassandra are probably the next Talons (apparently some other recruits would come in beaten or “made mute” before becoming Talons, and this is despite Bruce saying there are none here), and how he’d thought that maybe this Batman wouldn’t be as bad as the other one.

He stands out there for a long time. None of them leave the room, and though Bruce doesn’t usually stay up until all of his kids are in bed, it doesn’t feel right knowing they’re all dealing with something like this and still going to bed. 

So he stays. 

Eventually Cassandra is persuaded to leave the room. When she steps out, Cass at her side, she looks at Bruce for a long moment. He has no idea what she reads in him, though he’s sure exhaustion, both mental and physical at this point, is part of it.

In the end, she says nothing, and follows Cass to the nearest (empty) guest room.

After that, Tim comes out, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes closed.

“Well,” he says, “We got him to believe finally you won’t try to turn the others into Talons.”

Bruce can sense that it’s not the end of the story. “But?”

“But. He doesn’t trust you not to hurt them in other ways. And I kinda think he finally just said whatever we wanted to hear so we’d leave him alone.” Tim sighs, blinking and meeting Bruce’s eyes.

A feeling wells up in him, like he needs to speak, needs to reassure him like he tried to with Duke. But no words come, and he feels frozen with the emotions in his son’s eyes.

A sardonic smile comes to Tim’s face. Seconds later, he’s moving, stepping into Bruce’s personal space and leaning in. His arms wrap around Bruce’s chest, his face being smushed into his shoulder. It’s a lot easier, like this, to hug Tim back, cradle the back of his head like he’s a child.

After a few minutes, Tim says, “Bruce?”

“Yes?”

“I really hope my weird clone isn’t as fucked up as these three are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kyle referenced in this chapter is Kyle Rayner, Green/White Lantern, who's a friend of Jason's. More than likely he won't show up in the main fic and won't be mentioned all that much. I just thought it would be funny to throw that in there lol
> 
> As for Batdad....he's trying y'all
> 
> More drama coming up in the next chapter ;)
> 
> EDIT: hi! so sometimes, especially with my bigger fics, I like to make small little surveys to see what my readers would be interested in seeing! as of this point, most of the questions on it are about side fics because I have a sorta good idea of where I wanna go with this main fic, but there is a place to request things you'd like to see in the future of this fic. it's anonymous and pretty short, and I'd really appreciate if you answered the questions, though of course there's no obligation! [here's the link.](https://forms.gle/AuHRrrYYiJMPceoM7) thanks again <333


	10. June 20th part 2: Cass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leslie Thompkins visits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF sorry for the wait again everyone, I've had a kinda busy/weird week (that involved going to Prom! And deciding to go at the last second!) and this chapter fought me a LOT. Cass' POV is so hard for me, both as Cass and Cassandra, and idk why dklsfjklsdajf I'm not super happy with this but I don't dislike it enough to try to rewrite it for the fifth time ~~literally~~
> 
> Beta'd by my amazing friend Cali <3
> 
> Also I really don't know a damn thing about medicine and injuries so I apologize dslkfjlksdjfj
> 
> Warnings: blood being drawn (non graphic) and other routine checkup things, a LOT about the injuries Jason-2 sustained while with the Joker but not super graphic, Talon's blood is described, brief threat of vomiting (but it doesn't happen), Talon again self-harms but it's not nearly as graphic as last time (the sentence will be marked with "***" before and after), more about what happened to Talon and his backstory and the abuse he suffered (not terribly graphic)

###  Wayne Manor, June 20th, 10:36 AM

Talon and Cassandra don’t trust Leslie Thompkins, and it’s obvious. Ever since she walked into the room, they’ve been tense, eyes following her every movement. Talon, feeling especially threatened by her, is standing on the bed again, knife clutched tight in his fist.

She’s been forced to keep a safe distance from the bed, but Cass and Dick—the only adults in the house the kids seem to tolerate or trust except for Alfred—are free to get closer. 

For the fourth time, Dick, hunched some at the end of the bed, tells the children, “I promise you, she doesn’t work for Batman. We wouldn’t let her in here if she did, okay?”

“She wants to inject us!” Talon denies hotly, also for the fourth time. “She has needles!”

“Talon,” Dick sighs, head drooping a little. 

Cassandra taps Talon, and points at Cass, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. Cass understands plain as day that she’s saying,  _ See? _ , to Talon, who gazes at her intently but clearly doesn’t see whatever the girl is talking about.

Cass steps quietly to her brother’s side, gently bumping her shoulder into his. When he looks at her, the dark circles under his eyes are prominent, just like she’s sure her own are. They didn’t sleep last night, forced by the children to stay here and protect them from Batman. Mostly that was Jason-2’s call, not Talon’s, who’s been eying them both with suspicious, and most likely temporary, deference. Cassandra has been reading their body language and feels safe enough with them, though the addition of Leslie in the room has put her on edge.

She assumes that’s what the girl was pointing about—like she was saying,  _ See? The other me trusts this lady and so does the other you. _ Like she’s willing to chance it and wants Talon to, too. After all, Leslie is only armed with Alfred’s first aid kit and a few other things, none of them weapons. She doesn’t  _ look  _ threatening, and isn’t giving off any bad vibes.

“No injections,” Cass says, “She needs to take a little of your blood so we can make sure you’re all okay. That’s all.”

“She’s going to give it to Batman!”

Leslie opens her mouth, but says nothing, probably realizing that if she says the wrong thing, nothing good will come of it.

“She’s going to give it to Alfred,” Cass calmly corrects, thinking immediately after,  _ who will give it to Bruce. _ “And Batman won’t look at it.” No, he’ll analyze it. It’s different. She’s not lying.

Both of the children look at her for a long, long moment. She keeps her face blank, her body language open and reassuring and honest. Eventually Talon’s eyes go to Dick, then to Jason-2, who’s sleeping fitfully under the covers, but Cassandra doesn’t look away.

It becomes something of a staring contest, one which Cass has no intention of losing, even if it still unsettles her that this is  _ her _ . Her from a different world or whatever the exacts are, who is still a child and who hasn’t said a single word since they first saw her. The eyes are the same, the nose, the mouth, the cheeks… the only thing different, really, is the hair. Cass keeps hers shoulder length, while Cassandra’s is a much shorter bob.

It looks like it was cropped as short as or even shorter than Damian keeps his, and has grown out some. She has to force her fists not to curl and her body language to stay friendly, while thoughts of David Cain and his abuse fly through her mind.

Cassandra looks away.

“Fine,” Talon says, frustration obvious. “Fine! But you do it first,” and he points directly at Dick, narrowing his eyes.

A little annoyed, Dick stands up straight and replies, “Sure. She’s not gonna hurt me, so yeah, I’ll do it, and then you have to too.”

He sounds like such a brother, it makes Cass grin. Winking, he goes over to Leslie, greeting her warmly. They don’t hug, but he does clasp her shoulder with familiarity. Hopefully Talon will see it and realize she’s not going to do anything bad to anyone, especially not kid versions of Bruce’s children.

Cass sits gingerly on the bed, giving Talon a hard look when he starts to say something about it. For some reason, the boy defers to Cassandra, and since Cassandra looks just like Cass, he defers to her too. At the look, he backs off, sitting heavily next to Jason-2, whose eyes flutter open.

Cass makes a noise and meets her brother’s eyes. “I’ll be right here if anything happens. But nothing will, so it’ll be okay.” Maybe if they say it enough times, the kids will believe it. Dick nods and turns his attention back to Leslie.

All three children watch, Talon and Cassandra much more intently, as Leslie takes Dick’s blood. She narrates everything she does and asks often if Dick is okay, and he says back each time, “I’m good. Doesn’t hurt at all.”

“I’m gonna look in your eyes now,” she says, and takes him through a whole checkup, telling him sternly when she’s done, “You’re not getting enough sleep, Dick, which I know you know, because these bags are more than—”

“I know, I know,” he replies, but doesn’t explain why he hasn’t been sleeping. Cass herself is sure, if she’d been able to go to her own bed last night, she wouldn’t have slept a bit either. “Anyway. Your turn.”

Talon glares, but she can tell he’s scared and confused by something, by the way his eyebrows are ever so slightly furrowed. Watching didn’t seem to help much.

Jason-2 sits up some, being careful with his hurt wrist. “Leslie?” He asks, sounding groggy. “Wha’s going on?”

She smiles gently at him, taking stock of all his visible injuries. “I came by to make sure you three are healthy, and check how well Alfred and the others took care of your injuries.”

“Oh,” he says simply, before pushing the sheets back. It’s a struggle with two people sitting on it, but Cass helps pull it down until he’s completely free of it. Yawning, he tries to get up, and nearly falls on Cassandra, who squeaks.

“I don’t think you should be moving until I know—,” Leslie starts to say, but Jason-2 scoffs and pushes himself off the bed and onto his feet. Wobbling, he accepts Cass’ arm for balance, but doesn’t let her help him any more than that. He stumbles over to the chair Dick was sitting in, squeezing his eyelids shut.

“You okay?” Dick asks, hushed.

Jason-2 grits out, “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“You don’t have to go first, you know.”

“Yeah, no shit, Dick!” He takes a deep breath, and exhales loudly. “Let’s just get this  _ over with _ , okay?”

When Dick backs off, Leslie moves in and quickly does his checkup, taking some blood and checking his eyes, lungs, and the rest. He allows it, not saying much of anything, but Cass catches him looking up at Leslie a lot, a look in his eyes she can’t quite decipher.

Since he’s already out of bed, Leslie decides to look over his injuries before doing anything with the kids. It takes a long time, since she goes from top to bottom, checking his head for lumps and cuts, finding plenty of them. The ‘J’ scar is healing, but she tells him there’s some kind of ointment he can rub on it that might lessen it a little. “It’s for stretch marks, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Hn,” is all he says back.

There’s talk of head injuries, and Jason-2 calmly recounts the time the Joker took a bat and played ball with him. With his head.

Cass can’t help but think,  _ If I didn’t kill…. _

His neck has wounds and scars that suggest strangulation, his shoulders and collarbones plenty of cigarette burns and other small wounds, his chest deeply bruised and cut and worse. Jason-2 points at some of the bruises, saying things like “That was a backhand,” or “One of his goons fuckin’ kicked me.” He starts to explain a deep, deep scar, but chokes on the words and stops.

None of them have the heart to make him go on, so Leslie just continues her search.

Several bones in both arms, including his wrist, apparently were broken and healed wrong, which will probably require surgery. His fingers are wrapped up together. Dick has to help pull his pants down, and from there they see that his legs are just as bad as his upper body. Like with his arms, there are broken bones that never healed right. Leslie even says out loud, shock coloring her words, “You shouldn’t be able to walk,” which only makes Jason-2 flush and glare at them all.

And he’s skinny. So skinny Cass can count his ribs. When she can finally get out of here, she’ll tell Alfred to send up as much food as he can.

Together, she and Dick get him back on the bed, where he slumps against the headboard and ignores Talon when the boy pokes him. Thankfully, Cassandra slinks off the bed and submits herself to a checkup. While the needle is in Leslie’s hand, she doesn’t look away, body falsely relaxed. Once her blood is drawn, she goes through the routine perfectly, but doesn’t let any of them but Cass touch her to check for injuries.

Other than a few cuts and bruises, she doesn’t have any, so after bandaids are applied, she’s free to move back to the bed. Talon takes her place, gripping the arm of the chair so hard his already white knuckles go nearly translucent. The blood that comes out is black, golden flecks sprinkling it, and when he sees it he goes green. Dick thrusts the trash bin at him, but he doesn’t throw up.

The whole thing leaves Cass on edge, adrenaline keeping her standing and shifting from foot to foot. When Leslie tries to shine her penlight in Talon’s eyes, he screams so loud, Cass actually jumps. 

Outside the door, she can hear her other brothers gathering, asking each other what the hell is going on, but of course getting no reply.

Talon shuts down after the light is taken away, and goes through the rest of the routine silently. He allows Leslie to move him as needed, not protesting in the slightest, except when she says, a little awkward, “We’re going to have to check for injuries now.”

Dick starts to say something, but Talon gets there first. “I don’t get hurt.”

Leslie chuckles. “If you’re anything like Dick here, I sincerely dou—”

***

“I  _ can’t  _ get hurt,” Talon corrects, and casually slices his wrist open with his knife.

Dick turns away, eyes shut tightly, while the kids both make noises of shock. While Leslie just blinks, watching as the cut immediately begins to heal, Cass takes a bandage and presses it against the wound, trying to be gentle.

***

“Talon. Look at me.” Slowly, he does, and Cass can’t ignore all the similarities he has with her brother. The authority she’d planned on putting in her voice falls away, and she says, very soft, “You have to stop hurting yourself.”

“I’m not,” he denies, and though he doesn’t visibly react when she presses down harder, his eyes reflect pain. It makes her ache deep in her chest, her eyes tear up. Hiding nothing from him, she sees the exact moment he notices the emotions, sees him freeze in confusion.

“You are. And you will  _ stop _ .”

When he doesn’t say anything, just looks down, she backs off. Under the bandage, the cut is completely healed.

The corners of Leslie’s mouth tighten, but she doesn’t frown or express surprise or anything else. When she speaks, her voice is steady and judgement free. “How did that happen?”

Talon just looks at her for a moment. Swallowing, he says, “Needles.”

There’s really nothing they can say to that. When he scrambles back to the safety of the bed, none of them stop him.

Leslie meets first Cass’ eyes, then Dick’s. Then, carefully, she takes the blood samples to the door, and hands them to the closest person, Duke. “Take these to Alfred.” Her voice carries enough for the kids to hear, and Talon visibly loosens. 

Duke nods, but that’s all Cass sees before Leslie’s gently shutting the door again. Privacy matters more right now than the kids having an easy exit. Turning back to the kids, she grabs her notebook and sits in the chair herself. 

“Okay, now that that’s done, I’m gonna ask you guys a few questions. If you want me to ask Dick or Cass first, we can do that. Just please answer honestly.”

Jason-2 and Talon nod hesitantly, and Cassandra follows their lead, but Cass can tell she’s confused. Dick can too, but doesn’t say anything, just throws an arm over Cass’ shoulders and pulls her closer. Exhaustion immediately threatens to sweep over her, but she clamps down hard on it, forcing herself to get through this first.

“Good. Now, what are your birthdays?”

Jason-2 answers first, only needing a moment before he replies, “August 16th.” The same as their Jason. Leslie writes it down, and turns to the younger kids.

Talon glares down at his hands, eventually mumbling, “March?”

“March 20th?”

Talon shrugs, refusing to look at any of them.

For Cassandra, Cass tries to ask with body language, but “When were you born?” is a bit too hard to communicate, especially with someone who doesn’t know Cass’ version of a non-verbal language. In the end, considering Cass’ own birthday is more of a guess than a certainty, they give the little girl the same one as her, January 26th.

The next question is how old they are. Jason-2 says, “Seventeen, I think?”

Their Jason is twenty-one, so it’s not that big of a difference. It’s weird even for Cass, though, to think that when he was seventeen, he was running around Gotham trying to kill Bruce. 

Trying to figure out how old Cassandra is is weird, too, because Cass doesn’t remember what she looked like as a child and it’s not like there are any pictures. Dick tries getting her to count with her fingers how many times she’s had a birthday, but that just ends in confusion. Eventually Leslie interrupts and says, “She looks about ten, to me. Maybe the blood work will have her exact age,” and Cass smirks at  _ blood work _ . Of course, that means Bruce and his tests.

“Yeah, ten seems right,” Jason-2 agrees, scrutinizing Cassandra.

Leslie looks to Talon next, who makes a bird noise. Again, she asks, “How old are you?” 

It takes him a long time to respond. Cass tries to keep her eyes open and can only manage it after she pinches herself. “I don’t know.”

“Do you remember when you were born? Or what was popular when you were a kid?”

“Circuses,” Talon answers immediately, but that’s not very helpful and he seems to realize it. 

While they wait for his next words, Cass stifles a yawn into her fist, and laughs at the stink eye Dick gives her, once his own yawn is done.

“Um. I think...1940?”

Suddenly Cass is wide awake, and so are Dick, Jason-2, and Leslie. Cassandra’s eyes flit between them all, seeing various reactions of shock, but more than likely doesn’t know why.

Laughing a little, Jason-2 asks, “No, kid, really, when were you born?”

“Nineteen-forty!” He glares at Jason-2, crossing his arms indignantly. Like this, it would be hard for him to fight with his knife, which makes Cass think his annoyance is just that, and he won’t be lashing out. Cassandra sees that, too, and backs off a little, but keeps the broken hanger rod nearby.

Jason-2 rolls his eyes. “That’s impossible! I don’t know what year it is, but there’s no way you were born in  _ 1940  _ and look like this! What are you, like, ten? Unless you time traveled, hell no. You’re wrong.”

Talon tenses, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t time travel! And the only thing that’s  _ wrong  _ is that it’s so hot outside!”

“It’s June, of course it’s hot!”

“It was snowing before I came here!”

“Wait, what?” Dick cuts in, not wilting even a little under their intense gazes. “Talon, was it June in your world?”

“Yes,” he huffs.

“And snowing?”

“Yes!”

“So, what, December there is hot?”

Talon gives Dick a deeply annoyed look, repeating, “ _ Yes _ .”

Looking confused, he and Jason-2 attempt to explain that the seasons in the “real world” (Jason-2’s words) are the opposite, which only makes him more upset. It gets worse when Leslie tries to pull them back on track, asking him, “So you were born in 1940 and you’re ten years old?”

“Twelve,” Talon blurts, but there’s no certainty in his voice.

Leslie notices it but doesn’t comment, just writes something down. “Okay, twelve. Born in 1940. How...did that happen?”

Like earlier, Talon seems to shut down, his body language so blank it’s almost impossible for her to read it. When he speaks, he sounds young and dangerous. “Cobb. Talon.”

Cassandra reacts to his tone, grabbing the hanger rod and holding it in front of herself defensively. Jason-2 scoots away from Talon, closer to Cassandra, but he doesn’t seem scared. Just concerned. 

Dick moves to Talon’s side, making himself a small but comforting presence. “Hey, it’s alright. We’re not gonna hurt you, no one is. We just need to know what happened, that’s all.”

Cass is in no way prepared for what he says next.

He looks first Dick in the eye, then Leslie, choking out, “Coffins.  _ Coffins _ .”

“Talon…,” Jason-2 says, soft.

Suddenly Talon screams, “TALON!”, and lunges for Dick, sending them crashing to the floor. Cass moves without a second thought, ready to help subdue him, but the boy isn’t attacking, he’s just trying to get away. He probably thought going through Dick would be his best bet, but instead, he ends up stuck, held tightly to his chest. He stops moving all together, accepting defeat. Panting, he shouts, “They put needles in me and KILLED me and I didn’t want it! I didn’t!”

“Shh, shh,” Dick comforts, but it has no effect. The boy starts trying to get away again, tears running down his face.

On the bed, Cassandra is watching in obvious shock and fear, clutching the rod even tighter now. She pays no mind to Jason-2, who’s gone pale, as he tries to get off the bed on the other side of Talon and Dick. Leslie jumps to her feet and rushes over, forcing him to stay on it, but doesn’t admonish him. 

They all just stand around while Dick tries to calm Talon, only succeeding enough to stand and take him out of the room without dropping him.

Once they’re gone, Jason-2 drops back onto the bed, and pulls a pillow over his face. His ragged breathing is obvious, as is the way he’s shaking. 

Frowning, shaking, and trying to swallow down her own emotions, Cass makes eye contact with Leslie and gestures to the boy. She nods in understanding, allowing Cass to grab Cassandra, rod and all, and take her away, too.

She finds Tim and Steph downstairs, just talking, and drops the girl off, communicating with her body that her brother and sister could be trusted and wouldn’t hurt her.

That done, she wipes her face, and goes off to find Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand done! Anyone surprised? Lol
> 
> Also I managed to get through and answer all the comments from last chapter! I'll try again this time too kdsjfklsdjfa
> 
> Gonna blatantly copy from last chapter's endnotes: 
> 
> hi! so sometimes, especially with my bigger fics, I like to make small little surveys to see what my readers would be interested in seeing! as of this point, most of the questions on it are about side fics because I have a sorta good idea of where I wanna go with this main fic, but there is a place to request things you'd like to see in the future of this fic. it's anonymous and pretty short, and I'd really appreciate if you answered the questions, though of course there's no obligation! [here's the link](https://forms.gle/AuHRrrYYiJMPceoM7). thanks again <333  
> I've already gotten a few and I'm excited to start doing them once I'm good and graduated!


	11. June 20th part 3: Bruce, Dick, Steph, Jason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I........................am so sorry for the wait guys. I've had a crazy few weeks, and that plus writer's block kinda kicked my ass. I graduate on Friday, then I'll be heading to visit my grandma for a while, but I should be able to post normally while I'm there.
> 
> This isn't betad cause I just wanted to get it out and end the wait, so if anything is wrong just let me know!
> 
> In the meantime, I did end up writing a bunch of side fics. Companion piece to this work is [les amis de la vie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750670), set after the hug in chapter nine. It's Tim's thoughts about what's going on with everything, and involves Kon!  
>  **In Talon's world,** there's [la famille de la vie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18810256) (established Bruce/Talia with Jason and Damian) and [a bad dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18826747) (Catlad!Tim dreaming of meeting Talon, and it's actually set during this chapter!).  
>  **In Jason-2's world,** there's [la détermination de la vie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990069) (Dick and Babs in Jason-2's world dealing with the immediately fall out of what happened in chapter 3 of this fic).  
>  **In Cassandra's world,** there's [la colère de la vie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18733348) (in which Damian explains why he's following Cassandra), [les cadeux de la vie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817792) (good brothers Tim & Damian), and [bed time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844264) (DickKory and family fluff).
> 
> As always, the link to the survey is open and can be found in the series notes. Feel free to prompt me!
> 
> WARNINGS: lots of talk of blood though it's never actually shown, implied past child abuse, more about Talon's background, talk of dead parents, etc etc. 
> 
> There are some OCs in this chapter but they don't matter that much in the grand scheme of things, just add to Jason's scene
> 
> ALSO if you guys saw this and then it said it wasn't there or whatever, I had to delete the chapter but this is the same as it was so s'all good

### Wayne Manor, June 20th, 12:46 PM

The blood tests run quickly.

His two younger sons stand around behind his chair, staring with the same intensity Bruce is as the results come.

Having run all the samples, Dick’s is first. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Still, it’s good to have it updated. Another thing gets added to his mental to do list: have the other kids update their records. It’s been too long, and though he’s sure nothing’s changed, it’s always best to be prepared. And maybe he wants proof nothing’s changed. Whatever.

Jason-2’s is next, and though it’s the same as before, not even a fluctuation in the Joker toxin count, it’s just as upsetting as before, seeing that he’s almost 4% Joker.

“Wait,” Duke says, leaning forward a little. When he points at the screen, he rests his elbow on the arm of the chair, tilting it slightly. “Isn’t it supposed to go down?”

Damian leans forward too, peering at the numbers. “When was the last test taken, Father?”

“Two days ago,” Duke answers. “Even if he wasn’t given an antidote of some sort, it should’ve gone down a little bit, right? So I don’t understand why….”

Both boys fall silent as a realization falls over all of them. One they should’ve come to days ago now.

Damian clears his throat a little awkwardly. “You did give him an antidote, right?”

Goddammit, he knew he was forgetting something. Sighing, he says, “No.”

All at once, they both speak, a cacophony of berating voices. It’s not like he can blame them—he’s always telling them and the others to be precise, to remember everything, to go through things step by step and never leave a stone unturned. Giving someone with any amount of Joker toxin in their blood an antidote, especially someone like Jason-2 who’s been victimized by the Joker for years, should have been one of the first things he did. Even if he didn’t give it to him right away, making the antidote should have been a priority.

However, their berations, no matter how deserved, do nothing but irritate his headache. Annoyed, he tells them to go start on it, recommending they look at the notes about creating antidotes. Neither of them are very experienced in it, which means he’ll have to look it over before they can give Jason-2 anything. They go, looking more than a little irritated with him, but there’s nothing to be done about it.

He moves on to Cassandra’s blood next, finding it a match for Cass’. His system runs it’s magic and puts her in the age bracket of eight to ten, which seems about right. Really, he’s too tired to 100% confirm, but he trusts it for now.

Then he goes to the results of Talon’s blood.

Inconclusive.

Bruce sighs, his headache worsening, and looks closer. Sometimes the machine just briefly stops working. It’s not supposed to happen but it does occasionally, so it’s probably just that. Except, when he tries to look closer, he finds that the machine can’t read the blood. Very few of the normal markers are present in it, not just normal to Dick but to humans.

He goes to look at the sample, a gorge rising in his throat as he sees the color of it. Black blood? He’s never, not in his whole life, seen something like this.

It’s then that Cass comes storming down the steps, not angry but upset, and when she sees him, she launches herself right into his arms.

His horror and even his headache have to take a backseat.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, holding her firmly but not tightly. A million scenarios run through his mind, very few of them positive in any sense. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, and doesn’t need his worrying, but he can’t help it.

Muffled, Cass strongly says, “I _hate_ them.”

“You hate who?”

“Cobb. Joker. _Cain_.” At the sound of his name, she burrows closer into his chest.

Trying to sound gentle and not like he’s thinking of the best ways to ruin David Cain’s life, he asks, “What happened?”

Haltingly, Cass explains that last night, after he’d gone to bed, Cassandra had gone back to Jason-2’s bedroom. Talon and Cassandra have been awake since then, though thankfully Jason-2 did nap on and off. Apparently, she and Dick stayed up with them, and she’s exhausted.

He tries to tell her, with a hand on the back of her head, thumb going back and forth, that he’s proud of her. Proud that she’s been so strong, that she’s helping the kids, that she hasn’t given up and gone to bed yet.

She seems to understand, tapping his back a few times in response.

Then she gets to the part where Leslie came.

Bruce is horrified to hear most of what she says. It hurts to think that Jason-2 shouldn’t be able to walk, that Cassandra was so frightened she wouldn’t let Leslie check her for injuries, and that Talon seemed to get a painful memory back.

“I left Cassandra with Tim and Steph,” Cass says, clutching her arms tight around his chest. “Needed a break.”

He can sense that she also needs some reassurance. “That’s okay. She’s in good hands with them.”

Cass makes a humming noise. After a few more minutes of just standing there, she says, “I’m going to beat up Idiot Asshole.”

His lips quirk up a little. “We’ll all help however you want us to.”

With a deep sigh, she replies, “I know. Ugh, I’m so tired. Going to bed now.”

And with that, she goes back up the stairs, pausing only to wave to her brothers before she’s gone.

* * *

### Wayne Manor, June 20th, 12:46 PM

What does it say about Dick’s life that he’s held many a screaming child? Or that, compared to those freshly-traumatized, beat up, sobbing children, Talon is somehow very difficult to hold on to?

The boy struggles violently as Dick hurries down the hall, screaming at the top of his lungs. His fists slam against Dick’s chest, hard enough to leave bruises, but there’s no time to care. He needs to be separated from the other kids and it needs to be done as quickly as possible.

He wouldn’t want any of his own siblings to see him having such a breakdown (he winces as he remembers that that’s happened several times before), so it’s as much for Talon’s benefit as it is the others’.

Dick goes on instinct to his room, thanking whatever greater power has left his door miraculously open. He pushes it open with his foot, swiftly closing it behind him. The slam frightens Talon, who immediately goes tense and silent.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he mumbles, going over to his bed and setting the kid down gently.

When he stands up straight, Talon makes an animal noise, all despair and anger and other emotions Dick doesn’t want to think about. Instead, he points at the wall, at the large Flying Graysons’ poster that hangs there. It’s always been on whichever wall his bed pointed at, so he could wake up and see it. So he could never forget. So he could look at it and be comforted by the nostalgia.

“D’you see that, Talon?” He means to add something else, like _Did you and your parents have a poster like this one?_ , but he just can’t. It’s been a long time since he got choked up over his parents’ death, but knowing what happened to Talon, knowing that it probably all started after his parents died...it’s too much for him. Especially in his exhausted state. So he just leaves it at that, hoping it’s enough to catch the boy’s attention.

Sniffling, Talon drags his eyes to the poster, only to freeze when he sees it.

Dick suddenly wonders if this was a good idea, maybe it’ll only just upset the kid more, who knows how he’ll—

Talon stands up from the bed on shaking legs, glancing at Dick nervously. Dick tries to make himself look friendly and non-threatening, but he’s so tired he’s not sure if he manages it. Either way, in the blink of an eye, the kid moves to the poster, gingerly reaching out to touch it. It’s pressed between two thick layers of glass, meant to preserve it for as long as possible, but Talon doesn’t seem to mind.

His fingers trail over “Graysons” on the bottom, and he makes another noise, much less bird-like this time. It just sounds like a sob.

“Oh, kid,” Dick sighs, rubbing his face. Leaving Talon there, he goes to his closet, and pulls out one of the boxes still tucked away inside. He knows from the weight alone this is the one that has his parents’ letters, pictures, and nicknacks. Setting it on the bed, he pulls the top open and calls, “Hey, Tal, look. I have some of Mom and Dad’s stuff here.”

Tears dripping down his face, Talon shuffles over to the bed, much slower than when he left it.

For the next few minutes, Dick and Talon go through the box together. Dick tells stories when he can remember them, and asks if Talon’s family had things like this. Talon doesn’t respond, just stares at the handwriting, carefully holds the pictures, and runs his fingers over the other objects.

There’s a blanket inside, too, one that used to be on their couch. When Talon sees it, he slowly, gently unfolds it and lays it out on the bed. It’s a patchwork blanket, green and red and yellow, that’s thin and musty with time. He looks at it like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Hey,” Dick says quietly, “How about I ask Alfred to clean it, okay? Then if you want it, you can have it.”

“Okay,” Talon whispers after a moment. He allows Dick to take it and set it on the desk, and puts the box, along with everything inside of it, on the floor. Once that’s done, he burrows under the covers of Dick’s bed, hiding so the only visible thing is his hair.

“Are you tired?”

In response, Talon says, “I can’t stop hearing them scream.”

Holy shit. Okay. Dick kneels down in front of him, carefully not touching the bed. Still, his heart is pounding as he asks, “Who?”, because he has a feeling about the answer.

“Mom and Dad.”

They’re quiet for a moment, the only sound being Talon’s shuddering breath.

“Can I lay down with you?”

At Talon’s nod, he goes to the other side of the bed, gets under the covers, and stares at the poster. The sound of their last scream, it’s never left him either. It still haunts his dreams, still rings in his ears at the worst times.

“Did your parents die too?”

“Yeah. Yeah, they did.”

Talon makes a mournful little animal noise, and Dick really can’t blame him.

* * *

### Wayne Manor, June 20th, 2:17 PM

It turns out that Cassandra’s a pretty cool kid.

She’s pretty quiet, and mostly calm too. Everyone once in a while, a sound from the TV or somewhere else in the house will have her darting her eyes in its direction, and she clutches the broken rod tightly.

Neither Steph nor Tim are about to take it from her.

They’re teaching her signs, mostly the more important ones like stop, help, yes, no, go, come here, stay, and of course, “I am Cassandra”. Tim’s the one who knows more signs of the two of them, and he’s patient, slowly showing her how to move her hands and fingers.

It’s obvious she’s trying, putting a lot of attention into learning them, but it’s hard to say, “Cassandra, I know you don’t understand most of these words I’m saying, but this is the finger movement you do when you want someone to help you.”

A familiar look of frustration is on her face, her eyebrows furrowed and her tongue sticking out just a little. She looks exactly like Cass, just a little younger, and it’s kinda freaky if Steph’s being honest. Cute but freaky.

When she’d shown up this morning, Duke had informed her of the situation, saying, “Idiot Asshole made a huge mess of things and now we have three even more fucked up versions of Dick, Jay, and Cass.” When she’d laughed at that, he shrugged and promised it was true.

But it’s pretty different, being told there are—what, clones? That part wasn’t explained to her, exactly, and Tim hadn’t had time to before Cass came and handed them Cassandra. Whatever, the point is, being told there are clones of her three oldest pseudo-siblings is a lot different from actually seeing them.

And hearing them, she thinks with a wince, recalling the screaming from upstairs a few hours ago.

“This is hello,” Tim says, mimicking a wave in hopes she catches the meaning. Steph follows along with him, doing the sign which looks like a salute.

She does it again, this time to Cassandra, and adds, “Hello.” Tim also does it to Steph first, then Cassandra, and finally they gesture for the little girl to do it back.

There’s no vocal hello, but she copies the action pretty well. Steph can’t be sure but it seems like she’s not totally sure of what they’re doing and is just going along with it.

Sensing that, Steph suggests, “Hey, why don’t we stop for now? Maybe we can play a game instead?” She looks to Cassandra, but there’s no reaction. Just eyes staring back at her. “See, she agrees with me! You got any good games, Timmy?”

“We could play DDR. Cass likes to dance, so maybe you will too,” he says to Cassandra, who clearly reacts to her name. “Come on, let’s go to the game room.”

When they get there, Steph remembers part of why she’s always loved coming here. Years of kids living in the Manor has ensured the game room is full of fun games, of the board, video, and arcade machine types amongst others. One part of the room is sectioned off for Dance Dance Revolution, with a large TV playing the game and at least ten gamepads spread out around it.

Steph and Tim have Cassandra watch the first round to get the gist of the game. Steph wins the first round, of course. Tim’s agile enough, but he has to work for it, where she doesn’t. When Cassandra joins them, the first two rounds are also won by Steph, but after that, the little girl blows them both out of the water. Quickly, she ends up on the high score board.

After a while, Duke walks in, attracted by the noise. He watches for a few rounds before joining for one. He’s pretty good, too, and has speed on Steph but not agility. Cassandra wins against them all, of course, and he congratulates her before making his exit.

“Where’re you going?” Tim asks, getting a drink from the actual water fountain they have in here.

“Izzy’s,” Duke answers, and Steph grins, remembering the one time she met Izzy Ortiz. Duke’s crush on her is so obvious, but thankfully, the girl has one back. They’ve been circling actually going out for a while, despite all of them giving Duke some piece of advice about it. “I should be home for dinner...probably.”

“Well, don’t stay out too late, mister,” Steph laughs, wagging a teasing finger in his direction.

He rolls his eyes, grinning, and goes.

They play a few more rounds before they’re all too tired to go on, so they head back to the living room and play a TV show with the subs on and the volume off. Cassandra, tuckered out now, keeps almost falling asleep, eyes slipping closed and her head nodding, but is clearly forcing herself to stay awake.

Tim goes and asks Alfred to make them all a small dinner, and while he’s gone, Steph talks a little to Cassandra, mostly inane chatter. She wants to include her as much as she can, plus she knows learning a language is made easier when immersed in it, but still. She’s not quite sure what to say. It would really suck if she says the wrong thing, or too much, and Cassandra ends up thinking she’s annoying.

When Tim comes back, they discuss which Disney movie they should watch with dinner, eventually letting Cassandra choose between the options they present. Her pick is the Princess and The Frog, and Steph can’t help but cheer. Nothing against Tim’s choice of Beauty and The Beast, but PaTF is great.

Once they’re all settled with dinner, the movie on and the volume just loud enough for them to sorta hear, Damian comes in and sits with them, a plate in his hands, grumbling about not wanting to eat dinner alone.

It’s a pretty nice night in, all things considered.

* * *

### Gotham City, June 20th, 7:25 PM

Finally! Jason plucks the book off the shelf, checking the title and author one more time to make sure it’s the right one, and then hands it over to the kid in front of him. “I read it a while ago, and I’ve got to say, it’s probably the best dragon story I’ve seen.”

The kid, Lainey, is a regular and has been going through fantasy books left and right. When he’d suggested this one, her eyes had lit up, much like they do now. “Thanks, Mister Peter!”

She runs off before he can correct her to just call him Peter, but it doesn’t really matter. None of the kids here will listen.

With that done, Jason goes back to his desk, fiddling with his volunteer name badge and thinking about what he’s going to have for dinner once he gets off work. There’s a diner not far from the safehouse he’s living in currently, and he’s barely tried any of their food.

Just as he starts to think up what he’ll order, a small rush hits, and he has to help Nia find the correct textbook (it’s stupid, they decide, that the library has past editions unlabeled), Abdul the newest Black Panther comic book, and the Lupinsky twins the Goosebumps they want. When he gets back to his desk, one of the other volunteers, Audrey, is helping kids check out, and he ends up talking with her and Marissa (and Marissa’s one year old, who thinks he can talk) for a little while.

As much as Jason doesn’t like socializing, it’s nice, talking about books and the regular kids. It also feels pretty nice when the baby waves a sticky hand at him as Marissa leaves.

He and Audrey sit for a while, Audrey reading The Secret Life of Bees, and Jason just dreaming of dinner.

That’s when Jules comes up to the desk. They don’t have a book, which is odd, since Jason doesn’t think he’s ever seen them without one. “Hey, Pete,” they greet, leaning on the desk a little. “Can you help me find a book? I looked in the mystery section, but I couldn’t find it.”

Jason sits up when he hears the code, but makes sure he agrees casually and doesn’t hurry away from the desk. Together, they go to an empty section of shelves, and once he’s sure they’re alone, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Peter’s supposed to be a wimpy nerd, but all the regulars know something important about him. He’s in contact with the Red Hood. Jason likes it this way, allowing himself to live a somewhat normal life but still able to help the kids who need it. As far as they know, Peter has passed on every message, and Red Hood has always made it at least a little better.

It feels nice knowing they all trust him.

Jules sighs, tapping their toes a little nervously. “Nothing. I’m fine, as much as I can be I mean. Look, you talk to the Red Hood, right? I need you to tell him something.”

Jason knows that Jules’ home life isn’t great, but he still takes their word at face value. If they say they’re fine, they’re fine. “Sure. What is it?”

“I heard some rumors recently, about a new player on the streets. I don’t know a name, but he’s got some nasty weapons. Real big. I don’t know what they do but I don’t even wanna know.”

Must be Idiot Asshole, then, Jason thinks, committing everything to memory. “I’ve heard about him, too. I think Batman already knows about it,” he says, ignoring the wrong feeling he gets, talking about Bruce so casually with a civilian. “Was that all the rumors say?”

Jules shakes their head. “No. They’re saying he’s gone underground. And apparently, he’s talking to the others. Someone saw Two Face chatting with the guy, big guns and everything.”

Of course Two Face is part of this too. He has to suppress an eye roll. “Well, thank you for telling me. I’ll get this to our friend as soon as I get off.”

“Tell Hood to be careful, will you?” Jules asks.

“Of course,” Jason says, and then they go their separate ways.

Once back at the desk, Jason texts Roy, asking if he’ll be in town any time soon. Roy doesn’t reply for a while, in which Jason helps another few kids he hasn’t seen around before, but when he does, he says he can be and asks why.

‘You wanna help me hunt down an idiot?’ Jason texts back, already anticipating the fun they’ll have together.

‘Hell yeah dude’, Roy says, and smiling, Jason gets back into work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will introduce another alternative character!! It's not JJ though, not yet. I think you guys'll still like him tho ;)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the comments on the last chapter!!! They were all super nice and I'm so glad to hear from everyone <333


	12. July 1st: Ibn al Xu'ffasch/Damian-2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for the wait! I really didn't expect this chapter would take so long to get written out. I'm still not in love with it but I just wanted to get it posted. I don't plan on abandoning this fic but I can't make any promises as to how long it'll take to get to the end. My muse is fickle, and also I have a lot of writing commitments right now :/  
> I'm really so sorry it took so long tho everyone. I'll try not to take as long with the next one but every time I promise it won't be that long it is so kjdshfkhkhjhdkjhadh
> 
> This chapter didn't go exactly the way I expected so I'm going to have to re-outline a lot of stuff and figure out how the change will affect things. I do have a plan for a side fic about the cut Talon gave Bruce a few chapters ago tho, since I realized I never did anything with that (*facepalm*)
> 
> WARNINGS: last words/last moments together, lots of non graphic killing in this chapter, also a lot of non graphic/poorly written action scenes. Talk of abuse, general Ra's al Ghul warning  
> (There's NO MCD in this chapter)

### Somewhere In The Middle East-4, July 1st, 11:55 AM

Grandfather’s voice rings out, carrying over the entire arena, sending furious little shivers down Damian’s spine. “You are granted five minutes of privacy. No more, no less. This match will begin at noon, not a second later. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Father,” Mother says, bowing her head slightly. Damian follows the action, repeating her words but saying ‘grandfather’ instead. Shifting his weight, he stands submissively, though he knows very well that if he were to show disrespect—if he were to look his grandfather in the eye right now—nothing would happen to him. Mother, on the other hand….

There’s a cold look in his eyes that’s horribly familiar. “I suggest you say your last words to each other.” 

He waves his hand, and then the guards are coming towards them, taking them away from the center of the fighting area. Mother allows them to hold onto her arms, and though Damian wants to throw them off, to declare them so far beneath him, touching him like this is a gross overstepping of their boundaries, he doesn’t. It’s not worth the time they’ll lose.

The room they’re sent to is small, and without a proper door. One of Grandfather’s guards stands just outside, his large frame blocking them from leaving, his ears uncovered to spy on what they say. This last interaction, these last words, they’ll be used by Grandfather until the very end. They’ll be held over Damian’s head, a reminder of what he’s to do today.

It’s unspoken, but everyone knows it. Today is the day that Talia al Ghul must die.

And worse? She must die _at his hand_.

Needless to say, this will be one of the worst days of his life.

Mother seems to sense where his thoughts are going—though he’s sure her own are there too. What else is there to think about, really?—and pulls him into her arms. He’s not that much taller than her, but he still has to bend his neck to rest his forehead on her shoulder. It’s a pose they’ve found themselves in many times, whenever one or both of them need comfort. With that in mind, he wraps his own arms around her, trying to commit this to memory.

He’s an adult now, twenty years old, but he relishes these hugs. Especially this one. This _last_ one.

With his head tucked down like this, he feels very much like a small child. She cradles the back of his head, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep the tears in. In his ear, she whispers, so quietly he can hardly hear it, “I am so very proud of you. You are so resilient, so strong. I know you’ll make the right choices, for yourself and for our family. Don’t let them see you cry. And no matter what, know that I love you, darling. I love you more than anything else in this world.”

The words swirl in his mind, the horrible reality settling in. These are her last words. He’ll never see her again after this, will never be able to go to her for anything, will never get to hear her insight and advice. There will be no more helping her with things, no more letting her rant to him. All that will be left is the memory of him being forced to kill her.

Bile rises in his throat, and hatred for his Grandfather, new and old all the same, surges through him. He’s always been frightened of the man to some degree, has been aware that he and his Mother were not protected from him just because they’re his blood. As he’s gotten older, that fear has turned to anger, resentment. 

And as much as he’s tried to not hate him, it’s only gotten more difficult. Previous privileges, like free time between training, has been replaced with different kinds of lessons, more violent ones. In addition to that, being singled out as his favorite, his possible new heir apparent, has made life here intolerable. Constantly being around Grandfather, constantly being watched by family members, who know all too well what’s happening. It’s torturous, and his only solace has been Mother.

Of course, she’s being taken away, too.

Curling his fingers into the fabric at her back, he thinks of what he’s supposedly gaining from this. A Father. The Detective. A man who always does the right thing, who fights injustice, who has never taken any of Grandfather’s shit. He’s been told many times that he’s much like Father, but really, he has no idea who the man is, beyond those little things. If he had to choose, he’d take Mother any day.

And, well. If he’s so much like Father, that means he should fight this, doesn’t it?

Unable to help himself, he blurts out, with barely any volume, “Can we do nothing about this? It’s either you die, or I do?”

Mother doesn’t sigh, but her exhale feels like one, ruffling his hair just the tiniest amount. Not for the first time in his life, he feels like she’s reading his mind.

There’s something like defeat in her voice when she says, “There’s no fighting Ra’s al Ghul once he’s made up his mind.” 

Never in his life has she sounded like this. It infuriates and terrifies him all at once. “Mother, we’ll have our weapons. If we can just convince him to get closer to the fighting grounds…,” _we can_ fight _him. We can_ kill _him._

He doesn’t have to say it out loud. She hears it just fine.

The thought of killing Grandfather makes his stomach twist, just a little. It feels like a betrayal, like he’s a traitor. It’s something he’s always been told is the worst thing he could ever do, betraying Ra’s al Ghul.

But on the other hand, Damian has killed before. Always at Grandfather’s orders. When he was younger, he had dreams of killing the man, of blood splattering on his face and clothes. He had indulged in thoughts, but that’s not the same as planning his death.This is different.

However, like with Father, he will choose his Mother over them any day.

Mother pulls away, her hands on his shoulders, and they stare at each other, green eyes on brown.

They don’t have to speak.

She dusts off his shoulders, magnanimously—and loudly—saying, “It will be an honor to defeat you, my son.” Then, she sweeps out of the room, coldly informing the guard they’re ready to fight.

They’re walked back to the fighting area by the guards, who say nothing at all and grip their arms too tight. Still, he’s sure they’ll be reporting back to Grandfather, or at least have plans to. There’s no telling what will actually happen when they get out there, if it will work or not.

Unfamiliar nerves are tingling in his stomach. Yes, he and Mother have fought both together and each other for years. Since he was a child. There’s no one on this earth he feels more comfortable fighting alongside, no one he knows the moves of better than her. They usually don’t need plans when working together, but one would certainly help with Grandfather and his many, many, _many_ minions. Not to mention that the man will no doubt be able to tell, very easily, if something is wrong.

When they return to the arena, Grandfather is still in his throne-like seat, slightly elevated above the place their fight is to take place. His features are pinched, impatience obvious. 

Damian dares to look up at him. Grandfather and himself have a similar skin tone, the same dark hair. He’s sitting tall and regal, apparently unbothered by the killing that he’s ordered to happen. His clothes are much like Damian’s, the shape and color of the garments aligning with Damian’s preferences.

The similarities make him sick.

“Get in your positions,” one of his guards commands, and something like fury burns low in Damian. He can’t even bother to say it himself? He’s sentencing them both to death—the one who survives will never truly live, not after this—and doesn’t care at all.

Something he’s learned in life is to keep his mouth shut. He may be Damian al Ghul, a veritable prince, but as far as many people are concerned, he’s nothing more than a foolish boy, taking after his foolish girl of a mother. Not even Grandfather, who everyone says is soft on him, tolerates him speaking out of turn. The things he can get away with don’t extend that far. But now, Damian is about the become the true heir. 

And he can’t stop the words from tumbling out of him.

“Grandfather,” he calls, standing passively in his spot. “Would you really lose one of your best fighters over my father’s name?”

Mother says nothing, not even paying attention as she tests the sharpness of her blade.

All of the man’s attention turns on Damian. “Oh, child,” he says softly, mocking. Around him, the guards all smirk. “Do you honestly believe this is because of your father?”

Damian meets his eyes and it takes everything to keep his voice steady when he replies, “Am I to believe this is about something else?”

Everything has been about his father. About the Detective, the best man on Earth, who would see Damian as an equal, his _child_ , if he had any idea he existed. Every move he learned, every comment he has ever made, it’s been put up against the actions of his father. Since he was born, they’ve all waited with baited breath for this match.

When Damian wins, he’ll finally hear his father’s name for the first time. It’s one of the few birthrights of his that he actually cares about, though the price to pay for it is too high.

Mother’s blade makes a _shhkt_ noise, but she doesn’t interrupt.

Grandfather comes down from his seat, stepping close to Damian, putting a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t speak quietly. “No, no. This isn’t about him at all. This is about me.”

Damian doesn’t react, though inside, he’s thinking that _everything_ is about Ra’s.

“I only need one heir. Any more than that is just...excessive. And your mother? I think we all know that she’s becoming quite useless. Doesn’t go on missions anymore, wants more of my power….” It’s only then that he drops into a whisper, pulling Damian close. His grip is painful, so tight that there’s no getting out of it. 

It’s obvious to everyone around them what’s happening, but like Mother said. There’s no going against Grandfather. 

“I trust that you won’t go against me, when you’re made heir.”

“N-no, Grandfather.”

“Of course not. That’s because you understand. This is your way to prove to me that you will be good and strong, strong enough to uphold my legacy. And more than anything, that you will be loyal to me forever. Or I will take everything that you love from you, bit by bit. She will be just the start of it.” With that, he pushes Damian away, so hard that Damian nearly falls over. 

The guards laugh again. He’s going to enjoy killing them, he thinks.

“And Ibn?”

“What,” he grits out, glaring now at his grandfather.

Smirking, Ra’s says, “I will of course tell you your father’s name. But only if you earn it.”

From the other side of the match area, Mother boredly calls, “When will we begin, Father? Exact noon has come and passed.”

For some reason, Ra’s looks a little bothered at that. He turns his back on them, beginning to walk back to his throne, and throws over his shoulder, “ _Now_.”

Damian doesn’t wait. He unsheathes his sword and lunges for the nearest guard.

It all happens so fast. There’s no time to think, to wonder what Mother and Grandfather are doing. He kills the guards, the workers, the medics with blinding speed, sudden fury coursing through him. It’s hard to tell if it’s aimed towards the people, who so unflinchingly follow his Grandfather’s orders, or towards Ra’s himself, who has abused Damian and his mother for decades, who’s lead them all to this point with his selfishness and greed.

It’s only as he’s pulling his sword out of the stomach of his last opponent when he hears the other battle going on. Mother against Grandfather, both bleeding in several places, evenly matched and throwing barbs.

Damian thinks he won’t intervene. As much as he hates Grandfather, Mother has had to deal with for far longer, and she deserves to kill him. Deserves to end his reign of assholery. 

But then Grandfather does something unexpected. He grabs Mother by her hair, pulling so hard it hurts to even see it. His sword comes up to her exposed neck, and he leaves a cut, not deep enough to kill, but enough that blood flows out, covering her chest and staining the fabric that horrible bright red.

They turn, Grandfather’s back to Damian, and, well. Damian can’t ignore this, can’t allow Mother to die. He runs over, footsteps so light Grandfather doesn’t notice until it’s too late. Jumping onto his back, he throws his arms around the man’s neck and squeezes, thinking he should just snap his neck and they’ll be done with it. They’ll be done with _him_.

Before he can, Grandfather grips him by the biceps and digs his fingers in. Using his unnatural strength, he throws Damian over, only succeeding in flinging him to his back by Grandfather’s feet.

He looks up at the man, glaring so hard a headache starts to bloom behind his eyes. 

“You foolish child,” Grandfather spits, his sword raising. “I should have known your mother would infect you with her—”

His words are cut off when Mother gives a war cry, and stabs her own sword right through his chest. She leans in close, saying quietly in his ear, “It was his idea.”

Damian scrambles out of the way as Mother pulls her weapon out, Grandfather falling to the ground, a gasping and bloody mess.

Mother walks around him, her knuckles turning white on the handle. With a solid kick to his ribs, she says, “We will finally be free of you. We won’t think of you, we won’t say your name. Your empire will grow stronger under _my_ rule. You don’t get to abuse us, _me_ , ever again.”

He doesn’t flinch when she deals the killing blow.

They step away from the bodies, many of them still holding on to life feebly. Damian slashed and stabbed enough to make them go down and stay down—he wasn’t concerned with making sure they were dead. Now, he steps on grasping fingers, ignoring them all. They’re complicit. He won’t have sympathy for them.

Grandfather’s throne is untouched, sun-warm and clean. It’s there that Mother pulls Damian into her arms again, clutching him to her tightly. The blood on their skin and clothes means nothing. All he cares about is that they’re both still alive, that, like Mother said, they’re free of Grandfather.

“We did it,” he says, laughing incredulously. “We really did it.”

Mother pulls away enough to cup his cheeks in her palms. She smiles at him, bright and joyful. “He’s gone,” she breathes. “We’re free.”

He pulls her back into the hug, the weight off his shoulders feeling like a miracle.

A noise behind them like a riptide has them springing apart far sooner than he likes, both of them instinctively raising their weapons. It’s not guard or servant, though. 

A large portal hovers in front of them, shimmering like a mirage. Through it he sees the interior of a building, stuffy and old looking, with dark paneled walls and what appears to be paintings hanging up.

Damian glances at Mother, who’s just as confused as he is, though she’s much better at hiding it. The only way he can tell is by the way her jaw is clenched.

“What the hell is this?” He says aloud, irritation at the interruption lacing his words.

Suddenly, the portal radiates a voice which sounds like it’s been altered, like speaking with a voice changer. “Uh, what? Talia al Ghul was supposed to die.”

“Well, she didn’t,” Mother says, eyes scanning the portal. “What is this? What do you want?”

“I only want Damian.” It sounds petulant.

Damian grabs Mother’s hand, laughing meanly. “If you honestly think I’ll be going anywhere without my mother, you are mistaken. We didn’t just kill the Heir to the Demon to be separated!”

The portal is quiet for half a second, and then it says, sounding angrier, “Fine! But you will go where we—I want you to go!”

And with that, wind starts to pick up, suctioning them towards the portal. Damian holds on for dear life and blacks out.

###  Wayne Manor, July 1st, 3:04 PM

When he comes to, it’s to find that they aren’t in the arena anymore, but that building he saw inside the portal.

Mother, clutching his hand tightly, looks around, her eyes narrowed.

It’s a living room, he thinks, eyeing the couches and television. There are game consoles as well, which stand out against the rest of the decorations. The walls  _ are  _ wood-paneled in an old fashioned way, though the things on the walls aren’t just paintings. There are many picture frames, and in them, he can see a great assortment of people.

There is a painting, however, that catches his attention. It’s of a young man, sitting alone in a chair, his back straight and his face devoid of emotion. Damian can’t help but notice that the man shares his chin, his eyebrows, that the face he’s making is one Damian sees when he looks in a mirror. They aren’t twins, far from it, and the man is obviously white where Damian isn’t. Still, he has a hard time looking away.

That is, he does until Mother says, low and somewhat hurried, “Darling, this is your father’s house. I don’t know how we got here, but we can find him, and he’ll help us get home. He’ll know what to do.”

In all the chaos, Damian has forgotten about his father. He doesn’t find it odd that Mother knows who he is well enough to know what his home looks like—one of the few things she was allowed to tell him was how rich he is, and how she had visited his home more than once. What is odd is how her eyes haven’t stopped scanning the room, like she’s waiting for something to happen.

“Alright,” he says after a moment. “Where would he be? How can we find him?”

Before she can answer, something  _ does  _ happen.

A young boy, probably a teenager, enters the room. He doesn’t look up from his phone, where he’s tapping the screen forcefully and muttering to himself about “stupid brothers”.

Mother gasps then, and the kid’s head jerks up so fast it has to hurt. He looks at them for barely a second, no doubt taking in their bloody clothes and swords, and lets out a yell. He lunges for them, straight over a couch and right at Damian, suddenly wielding a pocket knife he seemed to pull from nowhere. Damian has no time to think, just lifts his weapon to defend himself.

If this is his Father’s home, why would he have a random child around who attacks people?

He hears more people enter the room, hears someone call out, “Tim, wait!” But that’s nothing compared to the way the kid suddenly stops attempting to kill him, his green eyes wide and confused. Then the kid looks over to Mother, and the confusion becomes more obvious, his mouth dropping open in shock. He ignores all the other people in the room, including the boy holding a bo staff and standing defensively just behind him.

“ _ Mother _ ?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's wondering, the change was Talia living/going with Damian-2!! At first, I was planning on her either dying there, or staying to lead the empire like she talks about, but then I realized that's pretty much just fridging her and I didn't want to do that. So now all my plans need to be fixed to account for her presence lol
> 
> Also I wanted to add, thank you for the comments and answers to the survey!! I see all of them and I am so thankful for your continued interest in this story. It means the world to me <333
> 
> Let me know what you thought? Did you catch the hint about our bad guy?

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Have any predictions? What were your favorite parts? 
> 
> <333


End file.
